Chosen Fate
by Kayasuri-n
Summary: Brenda and Mewtwo are thrust into a case involving eight identical murders, and victims whose creation is enough to give Mewtwo nightmares. On the other hand, Brenda's being psychoanalyzed and she's not happy about it. Rated M for Murder. COMPLETE
1. Left with no Escape

Left with no Escape

Being a Tim Horton's employee sucked. No matter what anyone said, it was one of the worst jobs ever. Eight hour shifts on your feet while idiots tried to order coffee and a doughnut. "I want a coffee," yeah, right. What size, anything in it- ugh, she was _so_ tired of having to repeat herself customer after customer. Drive through was worse, though she'd managed to skip that hell for the day.

At least she worked near a park. It was always nice, looking out on trees and flowers while imagining leaping over the counter and bashing people over the head with a coffee pot.

She needed a new job. One that didn't inspire her to thoughts of murder. And that was just with the customers! Her co-workers, well- she was one of the oldest people at the place, and it showed. She never would've considered some of the stupid hi-jinx when she was sixteen, even! 'Finger condoms' and food coloring wars and the worst customer service she'd ever seen… And the managers could burn in Hell. That'd be nice. She was _supposed_ to be on a two week vacation, but _no_, she had to be scheduled 1-9 for three days straight.

She really needed a new job.

Kathy zipped up her jacket and headed out into the street. She'd parked her car half a block down from the Tim Horton's, because parking was a bitch and everyone needed their coffee _now_, damn it, and the drive through line had been halfway down the street and- ugh. She needed a new car, a new apartment, a better jacket- none of which she could afford on the 8.75 they paid her an hour to wear a stupid uniform and let her brain cells die off.

Maybe she should work on that book she was writing, actually write it instead of just talking about it. Get it published- you never knew. Wendy Northcutt had made it big off her first book, and now she lived in a mansion out in the tropics. Why not Kathy Goldring?

She reached her car, unlocked the door, got in- and then shrieked. Her side mirrors were busted! She got back out and stared at the damage- then at the park just across the sidewalk.

"Oh, I don't need this," she muttered, and slammed the car door shut. She locked it, and started walking back to the coffee shop. "I really don't need this."

It took a minute- but when she figured it out, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Her car wasn't the only one with busted side mirrors, not by a long shot. The whole row of parked cars on the park side of the street were the same. A few even had the mirrors twisted off.

"Well." She blinked, and shook her head. "Great. Just great."

She supposed it was a good thing she knew how to talk nice to the police. It seemed she was going to be talking to them, real soon.

Saturday, August 1, 10:16 P.M.

Brenda strode through South end's rather nice park, ignoring flashing red and blue lights with the ease of long practice. Mewtwo seemed to be doing alright himself, though that was probably just the illusion. Just like most rookies, he was probably starting to feel a little sick to his stomach. The shifting play of light and shadows threw most people off. Brenda herself used to have to keep a stash of anti-nausea pills in her first year of Homicide.

"Told you. That fifth slice of pizza was a bad idea." She smirked up at Mewtwo, who glared back.

"_Shut up. I'm fine."_

"Sure you are."

"_You were projecting again, you know."_

"Aw, wassa mattah? Headache? Poor baby."

"_Can't you talk like an educated person?"_

Brenda shook her head. "It's a miracle I can even pronounce education. Public school's just a place to meet drug dealers, I swear."

Mewtwo sighed and rolled his eyes. _"Your contempt for the educational system is disheartening."_

"'Educational system'?" she quoted. "Jeez, no, it's a fucking factory. If you don't think inside their box, you get shoved into the 'special' class."

"_Detective, your… abilities with the sciences are not to be doubted. I'm just amazed you were allowed in a science classroom. Weren't they afraid of impromptu bombs?"_

"It wasn't my fault!" she protested. "I don't even know what I did and you still blame me?"

Mewtwo smirked. _"Of course."_

"Asshole."

"_I knew you were going to say that."_

Brenda shook her head and decided to quit while she was behind. Mewtwo had recently told her that 'hitting, kicking, and trying to bite me' was against the rules. Since she wasn't allowed to beat him into the ground- she ignored his snort, because it obviously had nothing to do with what she was thinking- she was reduced to fighting with words.

She wasn't as skilled at that as he was.

She led the way over to the crime scene tape, and ducked under. Mewtwo, of course, just stepped over- at least, she thought he did. With the way his legs were built, who knew? Besides, it probably didn't matter, so long as people saw what they were supposed to see.

"So, what's up?" she asked, looking over at the street beat officer. The man grimaced and nodded to a pair of feet poking out from behind a bush.

"Got a call for vandalism in the area. Found a trail, which is how we found her."

"A trail?" Brenda asked, edging a little closer to the bush. "From here to the vandalism?"

"Close enough." The officer ran a hand over his hair, and looked up at Mewtwo. "A very long run of cars had smashed side mirrors. Someone strong or drugged did it. Found some blood on the shards."

"_Useful," _Mewtwo murmured, and stepped up to the body. Stopped cold. _"Oh."_

"See, that's why I was going slow," Brenda muttered, and stepped up to join him.

She'd known from the size of the feet that they were either going to be looking at a midget, or a child. She'd been betting child, just from the lack of leg hair, and had been right.

A girl maybe twelve, thirteen, had been laid out on her back, hands clasped over her navel like in a funeral home. She was dressed- or had been dressed- in a white shirt that ended at mid thigh and left her arms bare. Her legs were bare, she didn't have on any shoes. Her hair was like raw, pale silk, spread out around her head, and her eyes were closed.

She looked like a little angel fallen from Heaven. Brenda didn't normally think in terms of Kanto's major religion, because it was just too placid for her, but… This time, it fit. The pale, perfect angel, her life cut way too short.

"Damn it," she muttered, and took a deep breath. "Did anyone call for a dead wagon?"

Saturday, August 1, 10:30 P.M.

Mewtwo glared at an inoffensive tree, and concentrated on deep breaths. There were people that, in his opinion, deserved to die. The vast majority of trainers, members of Team Rocket, and several scientists- but innocent children weren't supposed to die. They weren't supposed to be left in a park.

They weren't supposed to remind him that he was supposed to _hate_ humanity.

Why was he doing this? He was pretending to be a cop, helping humans, working along side them, _why?_

"Problem?"

Mewtwo looked down at Brenda, and hissed. She ignored it, as she ignored so many things, and offered a cup of coffee. He sneered, she shrugged, and took a long sip from what was now her cup.

They hadn't needed to talk for what should have been an actual discussion!

"You're looking a little rattled," she pointed out, peering at him from over the cup rim.

He glared at her. She smirked.

"Wow, its amazing how your illusion flickers when you get emotional, isn't it?"

"_Is there a point to this conversation?"_ he asked, just managing to keep from snarling. His eyes were probably glowing, however.

"Yeah, actually." Brenda lowered the coffee cup, and started playing with the lid. "Look, dead kids… they happen. It sucks. And, you know, I really shouldn't say it's easier, but it kind of is when the dead person's adult."

"_What makes you think I'm dwelling on the child?"_ Mewtwo asked, impressed despite himself. That was the longest, most touching speech he'd heard Brenda say.

Not that he had much to compare it to. Nevertheless…

"You're over here looking like you want to set a tree on fire with your eyes, there hasn't really been anything else to set you off recently. Unless you took what Rawn said personally?"

"_Rawn can jump off a cliff,"_ he muttered.

"Figured he could, but… Okay, look. There's a departmental shrink, I'm always available for midnight chats, and I'm sure Sheryl wouldn't mind if you needed a sounding board. Oh, and if you screw up with your illusion around people I can't intimidate into keeping quiet, I'm going to shove your head so far up your ass you'll be seeing daylight."

Mewtwo blinked, and leaned back against the tree. Again, one of the longer speeches he'd heard from the Detective, and one that was… oddly touching. In a disturbing, nerve wracking sort of way.

Sunday, August 2, 6:51 A.M.

Mewtwo rubbed one paw over his face, and hissed at the window. It was covered in blackout curtains, yet he could sense the morning sunlight just past that fragile barrier. He had not had a good night's sleep. Once the work of last night's crime scene had been seen to, the required paperwork filled out, he had ended up not reaching his apartment until one in the morning.

He had not been long in patience, either, and had left several petty thugs nursing injuries when they attempted to mug him on his way home. You would have thought the cop's uniform would have warned them off, but apparently it was just an incentive.

It was now far too early in the morning to be up, yet he was. It was most unpleasant.

A quick shower cleared the fog from his mind. He had a store of food in the cabinets, and some perishables in the fridge, but he rarely ate at his apartment. Fortunately for his stomach, Brenda had almost ordered him to continue eating meals at her house. Dinners were usually spent at her house, but breakfasts were safer eaten alone. The Detective was grumpier then he was in the mornings- and she carried her gun.

He had a jug of cider in the fridge, one of the few drinks besides water he could stand. It was also adept at waking him up the rest of the way, as compared to water or milk. He couldn't begin to imagine how Brenda and the other cops could stand coffee, whatever its state. Couldn't they _smell_ it?

He drank his cider slowly, and worked methodically through several fruit. Sometimes- but no, he was a civilized creature. Civilized creatures did not eat the badly seared flesh of other creatures.

Even if he did have fangs and _was_ a cat.

He had just finished when someone started pounding at his door. He considered answering it, but in his part of town it was just as likely to be a trap.

The pounding ceased, the doorknob rattled once, and then someone cursed. Rather loudly, rather fluently, with several familiar terms. He started to stand up, when the door swung open.

Brenda stepped in- and froze. Mewtwo sighed, rubbed at his face, and gestured with one paw. She started moving again- and yelling. The door swung closed behind her, but she didn't seem to notice.

"What the_ fuck_ was that?"

"_My security system,"_ he said, and reset it with a thought. Now Brenda was exempt, as he was. Everyone else would still be frozen, however. _"Do you recall back when we first met, with the dragons? How you kept trying to walk down the hall in the lab, and kept turning back?"_

"Not really. Your security system is a psychic thing?" Brenda's expression was wary, and then tired. "Whatever. It doesn't really matter so long as it works, right?"

"_Correct. Is there a reason you're here at seven in the morning? And lucid?"_

"Fuck you."

Mewtwo just looked at Brenda. It was seven in the morning, he'd had a long night, _she'd_ had a long night… There had to be a reason for this intrusion but he just couldn't think of what it might be.

Brenda rolled her eyes and leaned up against the wall. "This- right, against the rules to talk about your apartment. Damn it."

He smirked, and looked around the space. It was a box, with a closet near the door, a tiny bathroom beside the closet, and one window. There was the miniature kitchenette, space enough for a bed large enough for him to sleep comfortably, and very little room left over for anything else.

"_It's not like I need much room,"_ he pointed out, and was treated to a glare that would have set his fur on fire, if it hadn't been against the laws of nature and physics. _"What do you want, Detective?"_

"You want a list?" he heard her mutter. Then she cleared her throat and straightened up. "Look, I want to get a jump on today. Sooner we close the case with the kid, less likely we'll find any more of them."

Mewtwo leaned back in his seat, and smiled. Brenda looked almost embarrassed, as if it were a crime for her to care about the dead. _"I have no problem with an early start,"_ he found himself saying. _"Where do we go first?"_

"The lab," Brenda said. "I don't want paper on this, I want a person."

He nodded and stood up. _"I hope you didn't drive here,"_ he said. _"You'll lose your engine, tires, and stereo."_

"Still don't have a car," she muttered.

Mewtwo decided not to ask how she'd gotten to his apartment. He did, however, feel somewhat sorry for any of the human refuse that had run across her. Maybe next time they'd be smarter and leave her alone.

Sunday, August 2, 8:00 A.M.

Brenda didn't like labs. The chatter between all the geeks and nerds- polycarbonate whatevers and hydro-fuckwits, she didn't know- was like getting her teeth drilled at the dentist.

She'd avoided her dentist for nearly five years now, but that was besides the point.

However much she hated labs, she knew that her partner hated them more. Probably went back to his history with Team Rocket- but he'd never volunteered, and she'd never asked. Maybe some other time, when she didn't remember he was a powerful psychic and could kill her as soon as think at her. Soon as she forgot that, then sure, she'd ask. She'd probably end up tossed through a few walls, but Mewtwo would tell her the story, soon as she got off the drugs. He had a weird guilty conscience.

She headed straight for Scary Sherry, Queen of the Forensics Lab. And if Sherry didn't have the information Brenda wanted, then Scary Sherry was going to meet the Demon Bitch Cop.

Mewtwo slanted a look down at her; Brenda noticed it out of the corner of her eye. "What?"

"_Don't you think you're being just a little overly dramatic?"_

"Huh?"

"'_Scary Sherry',"_ he quoted.

Brenda sneered. "Everyone calls her that. Shut up."

Besides, they were already at Sherry's work station. Like all smart people, Sherry disdained an office, kept hers for paperwork and annoying visitors. There was also rumored to be a complete human skeleton with real bones, but as Brenda had never seen Sherry's office, she could neither confirm nor deny the rumors.

"Got anything for me?" Brenda asked.

Sherry looked up, managing to look both annoyed and welcoming at the same time. Had to be a gift. "Glass is all from the cars, blood's been run through, no matches. O negative. Fingerprints were too smeared to get a match. Doubt Rawn's vandal and your killer's same person."

"Probably not, but it'll have to stay open until we find something else," Brenda said, impressed despite herself. "You know how to bottom line it."

"I hear my guys talk about you. Don't want to end up stuffed in a trash can, me."

"It only happened the once."

"It was enough."

Brenda chuckled, and nodded at the door. Mewtwo led the way, and so was the first to notice a note taped to the stairwell door.

"_The morgue's been moved,"_ he said.

"How'd you figure that one?"

He pointed at the note. _"I guess we go downstairs."_

"Morgue's supposed to be downtown," she grumbled, but pushed open the stairwell door. "And I hate stairs."

"_Mm,"_ Mewtwo said, not quite agreeing- but not disagreeing either. _"I suppose they wanted space for another evidence locker."_

"Guess so. And it's kinda handy, isn't it? Find something weird on the body, just take it upstairs and have it analyzed."

"_Quite."_

Brenda pushed open the morgue door, and narrowed her eyes. "Sam? You there?"

A young man in a lab coat turned away from the computer monitors. "Sam was promoted a month ago. I'm Ben McClure." He didn't block the entrance, but he did stand between the police officer and the cadaver on the examination table.

"Why are you here?" Brenda stalked forward the three steps necessary to loom over this new guy. "And what are you doing with my body?"

Mewtwo rolled his eyes, and followed in Brenda's wake. He'd jump in when she needed him, but in the mean time, he'd be amused.

"Your body?" The coroner rubbed his temple, but didn't back away. "I think you're mistaken, officer. I am Dr. Benjamin McClure, the tri-precinct coroner, and I was completing the superficial examination of the Jane Doe." He glanced at her nameplate, but "Johnson" hadn't been one of the officers on the retrieval team.

Brenda bared her teeth in a grin. "Homicide cop, kid. That Jane Doe's mine. And for the record, I'm a detective- or can't you tell blue jeans from the uniform blues?"

"Detective Johnson. You will receive my full report when I am done with my examination. I normally would have been able to provide you with details hours ago, but I have found several abnormalities that require investigation."

"Then you can explain about these abnormalities in person, yeah?" Brenda gestured at Mewtwo and arched one eyebrow. "He'll translate."

Before responding, he looked at the clipboard still in his hands. Detectives Johnson and Smith, primary investigators... yes, someone had left a notice about Johnson. "I performed an X-ray, which is standard for cases with blunt trauma involved. When reviewing the X-ray, I found abnormal patterns in the maturation of epiphyseal plates. The lab upstairs ran a full DNA sequence, and I am in the process of analyzing several odd markers in Miss Doe's genome."

Brenda looked over at Mewtwo, hopelessness in every line of her face. Mewtwo chuckled, and shoved away from the wall. _"Perhaps, Dr. McClure, you could manage that last bit for someone who didn't graduate from Medical school?"_ He looked back at Brenda. _"He x-rayed the body, found some odd things with the bones, and is now going to explain just what he means by that."_

"Perhaps we can continue in my office?" Ben offered. "I know enough to give a cursory explanation. The partial report should be ready by this evening."

Brenda arched her eyebrows, but followed after the dead doctor and her partner to the office. She scanned it, snorted at the poster for the first Star Trek series, rolled her eyes at the Star Wars poster, and sneered at the organized, over size desk. "Okay Hades, get a move on. Quicker we know what we're dealing with, quicker we can find the bad guy."

"Hades?" She seemed to be talking to him.

"Yeah. Talking?"

Ben shook his head, but flicked on the large, flat light along one wall. The two strangest X-rays were already in place. "I knew from looking at these that the case would take some time. Miss Doe appears to be 12 or 13, but these two bones are already fused." He pointed at the base of the breastbone. "The xyphoid process is already joined to the sternum, which shouldn't happen until 15 at the very earliest."

"Uh..." Brenda looked over at Mewtwo, who shook his head. Apparently, he was just as lost. "What's a ziphid?"

"Ah. My apologies." Ben pointed at a faint line visible in the breastbone. "Infants are not born with one solid breastbone. There are three pieces, which fuse together as the child grows. The xiphoid process is this part at the bottom, named for its resemblance to a sword." He doubted that the detective wanted to hear every detail. "Perhaps it would be better if I summarized. Coroners can estimate the age of a victim by seeing which bones have fused. These patterns are very accurate, but Miss Doe is completely out of the expected pattern. I cannot give an accurate estimation of her age, because her development is unprecedented."

"Okay, Hades? Just so you know, I don't do science. I don't do growth patterns or ziffy processes or jack all, okay? Bottom line it. Jane Doe's age is weird, I get _that_. Stick with simple things like that and we'll get along fine."

"Again, my apologies. I earned my doctorate just last month, and that tends to make one speak very accurately." He turned the lights off and stepped away from the x-rays. "I will try to be more clear about Miss Doe's genome- DNA sequence. The human sequence is three billion units long. Miss Doe has less than one billion, and several mutations I could find in one hour on the computer."

_"Someone altered the girl's DNA,"_ Mewtwo said, his voice tight. Brenda looked over at him, and shifted slightly so she could keep both Hades and Mewtwo in view at the same time. Hades was harmless, but Mewtwo looked like he was going to explode. _"Human DNA is, as Dr. McClure said, long, and mostly filled with useless information. Someone clipped most of that information out."_

"What, while she was still alive?"

Ben shook his head. "Embryonic. Someone wasn't satisfied to try cloning, but decided to play God. From the most basic examination, someone did not do very well. I observed several indications of severe illness, but my current estimate for cause of death is severe fractures to the cervical vertebrae."

Okay, now her partner looked like he'd plugged a fork into a toaster. He was _sparking_, blue crackles of... blue energy arching about his form. Any minute now and there wouldn't be a lab. "Please tell me I don't have to arrest a god," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "I'm pretty sure any of mine wouldn't be involved in this- they're more like people."

"Officer Smith," Ben said. "If necessary, I will happily speak with both of you upstairs. We have a conference room that is very well shielded, because most of the equipment we own is worth two years' salary." He didn't know how much good that would do, but at least he had tried. His supervisors wouldn't fire him in his second week, would they? "No gods, Detective Johnson, just some very arrogant scientists. If I can get the cooperation of your department, I would like protective custody for Miss Doe's body until your investigation is complete. Some scientists like to reclaim subjects, but Miss Doe has had quite enough."

Since Mewtwo was now looking like his anger was being redirected at one innocent scientist, Brenda stepped between the two men, her back to her partner. "Conference room isn't necessary," she said, and attempted a back kick into Mewtwo's ankle. It didn't connect, but she hadn't expected it to. "As for protective custody, it's yours."

Like she understood about scientists wanting a body- but if you got right down to the basic facts, the body was evidence; the evidence had to stay with them.

Ben was oblivious to Mewtwo's anger, still distracted with a puzzle. "I don't know how much more I can tell you, at the moment. Miss Doe's genome was obviously changed while she was still a fetus. My current hypothesis is that scientists were modulating hormones to control her growth, which would imply the scientists still had control over her life. Her organ systems were doing poorly, but she was killed when three of her cervical vertebrae were crushed." He removed a sheet from his clipboard, a black and white sketch of a young girl. "I always have one of the sketch artists draw the victim, for the coversheet of my records. Perhaps this will help your investigation."

"Photographs would've been more helpful, but this should do. Thanks." Brenda tucked the papers under one arm, and tried to back up. Mewtwo however seemed to have become an immovable wall. She growled, and shoved one shoulder back into his chest; his tail thumped against her good leg in warning.

_"Are you saying this girl was experimented on?"_ Mewtwo asked, not really doubting the answer. _"Have you compared her DNA with the records, yet?"_

"Yes," Ben said. "I don't like to make statements before the full autopsy, but I cannot think of another explanation. I believe that continued life as an experimental subject explains several unexpected traits in Miss Doe. I sent her DNA records in for comparison an hour ago." He moved on to an easier point. "I do have photographs, detective, and will supply them if you prefer. I typically use sketches of respect for the dead."

Brenda nodded. "Sketches are fine, then." She dug out her card, and tossed it onto the desk. "The moment you get anything on this case, call my cell phone, don't wait to put it in a report." She elbowed Mewtwo in the stomach, finally getting him to move. "I want to look at the body before we go."

Ben hesitated, but nodded. "This would be the best time, detective. I was about to begin the autopsy when you arrived, and Miss Doe will require the full work-up. Perhaps you would like to see a point of interest about the wound to her spine, so long as we are in the morgue?"

"Sure." Brenda gestured Mewtwo over towards the door, and bit her tongue when he ignored her. A few things were starting to come together in her mind- the girl was an experiment, he'd been one too- and she wasn't liking the picture that was forming. Mewtwo did have a temper, after all, and everyone had their buttons.

"Alright," she said, staring down at the little girl. She didn't look any less angelic or vulnerable, washed and laid out on the table. "What's weird?"

Ben had pulled on latex gloves on the way to the table. He brushed the girl's pale blonde hair aside, and gently turned her head away from them. "Here," he said. "I've never seen bones crushed like this. The transverse processes of the bones were.." He only hesitated a moment. "The pieces of the bone coming out sideways were broken, by a very high amount of pressure. The pattern of fractures suggests that this break was done with a single hand." He rested his hand beneath the deeply bruised area. "Coroners and surgeons do far better to have small hands." The bruising was only as wide as three of his fingers.

"Someone crushed her neck with their hand?" she asked, figuring it out after only a minute. Actually seeing the bruising helped. "I've seen bruises like this before, but on arms, not necks," she muttered, leaning closer.

"Someone crushed her spine with a single hand, which means you're working with a small killer of exceptional strength." He measured the width of the bruise with a ruler. He used calipers for accurate measurements, but this was a demonstration. "Less than two inches." Ben repositioned the body very carefully, then drew an arm from beneath the thin black sheet, then laid a ruler across the girl's knuckles. "Less than two inches."

"So, the victim's size." Brenda tilted her head, tried to visualize the scene. "How could anyone this young be that strong?" She shook her head, and leaned back. "Thanks. You should... figure out the weirdness."

"I have a guess." He readjusted the sheet carefully, then stepped away from the table. "Miss Doe has a highly modified genotype. Perhaps some scientist who fashioned himself quite clever did not stop with her."

Mewtwo's tail lashed at the air. Brenda could feel the brush of disturbed air. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Thanks." She hesitated, then brushed her fingers against the dead girl's shoulder, muttered something no one was supposed to hear. She nodded to the dead doctor and backed away from the table. "Smith, let's go."

Ben studied Miss Doe's DNA for a few minutes, waiting until the door leading to the basement morgue opened and closed. When it was clear that the detectives would not double back, he turned on his recorder. "McClure at 8: 15 A.M., Sunday, August second, beginning the autopsy of Miss Jane Doe, Doe 1645 in tri-precinct records."

**End Notes**

I find I keep changing the way I put a break between scenes. At first it was only the day of the week, bolded and centered; now it's the date and time, underlined and nicely tucked away to the side. Maybe if I ever have oodles and oodles of time on my hands, I'll go back and edit everything so it's alike. Then again, maybe I'll just write new stuff. Heh. Anyways- enjoy this latest instalment of the Sword and Shield Universe. And look up the song Chosen Fate on YouTube, it's the theme song.


	2. Biotechnology

Biotechnology

Sunday, August 2, 8:21 A.M.

"_What did you say?"_ Mewtwo asked, keeping his paws clenched at his sides and his tail still with a supreme effort of will. He wanted- he didn't know what, exactly, he wanted, but it was doubtlessly destructive.

Brenda dodged around several pedestrians, projecting curses and what could only be described as mental claws raking the air. "Huh?" She pointed at a street vender hawking dubious hot dogs and fries. "You want anything from there?"

"_No, I want-"_ to talk to her, but she was already gone, getting in line for food that would kill her ten years down the road.

Then again, maybe it wouldn't. He had yet to meet anyone nearly as active as Brenda. She would probably outlive him, even if he did happen to have Mew's lifespan. He could see the Detective living five centuries, easily.

She jogged back to his side, hot dog in one hand, small bag of fries in the other. It was amazing she didn't choke on the large mouthful she'd taken from the hotdog.

"_When you're done stuffing your face, I'd like to talk to you."_

Brenda swallowed her mouthful, and nodded at a street-side bench. "We could talk now."

"_Somewhere quieter,"_ he admitted. He didn't want to have to dodge teenagers on rollerblades or businessmen on cell phones during a conversation. _"Perhaps a park?"_

The Detective grunted, attempting to pull a single fry out of her bag, while being unable to use her hands. It was mildly amusing, watching her grab a fry with her teeth, tug slightly, and hiss when several fries shifted and threatened to fall out.

"Bah," she finally said, leaving the fries alone for the meat. "Park, park… Three blocks down there's a kid's playground, that'll do?"

"_It should."_ He could easily ensure their conversation was private, after all. He followed Brenda, deciding he really needed to memorize the city's map the way she seemed to have done. He also managed to more or less calm down, though he wouldn't trust himself not to react if anyone wearing a white lab coat tried to talk to him.

They reached the park without incident, if you didn't count Brenda's reactions to the pedestrians infringing on her space, and found the only park bench without bird droppings on the seat or back.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" Brenda asked, finally able to start eating her fries.

"_I want to know what you said."_

"Huh?"

Mewtwo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _"To the body. I want to know what you said to the body."_

"You didn't hear?" she asked, sounding oddly pleased.

"_No, I didn't. Will you tell me?"_

"If I say no, what'll you do?"

"_Well, I _could _read your mind-"_

"And I can shoot you if you try-"

"_But as that would be rude, I'll refrain."_

"… Good enough." Brenda crumpled up the fries bag, and tossed it at the playground's garbage can. It was a good eight feet away from her seat, but she managed to get it in. "Always was good at athletics."

"_Detective…"_

"You really want to know?"

Mewtwo nodded. He hadn't been that curious when he'd first asked, but now, well… She was trying to avoid answering. _"I won't mind if you don't tell me,"_ he lied.

Brenda snorted. "I said… It's one of the only Islander phrases I know. It's not my proper language- I'm supposed to speak Morin, everything I know is in Shamun."

She correctly interpreted his baffled look, and elaborated. "There are at least a hundred islands in the Orange Archipelago. And almost every Island has its own dialect- generally it's just a case of accent and slang, but someone from the South-Western Islands wouldn't be able to talk to the North-Eastern. You know what people here call 'China'? That's Mikan Island- they wouldn't be able to talk to a Moro native, like I am, or a Trovitan, or anyone from the South-West, because they're from too far north."

Mewtwo blinked. _"So instead of Chinese food it should Mikanese food? I'll remember that."_

"Please, do. So, anyways, Shamun is from Shamouti Island area, which is in the center of the region." Brenda gestured with her hands, managing to suggest a bowl or a whirlpool, and then shrugged. "Shamun is enough like Morin, but none of the slang's the same, and a Shamun would have to talk very slowly to be understood by the Morin."

"_Alright, thank you for the lecture, but what did you _say_?"_ It was a pity he only had three fingers. It would have been very satisfying to drum them against his knee. It would have also made a non-verbal point.

Brenda looked away, and started rubbing her hands against her jeans. It took a moment for Mewtwo to notice that her cheeks had gotten darker, but when he did, it was all he could do not to grin. The indomitable Detective was blushing.

"Ah, roughly translated, it was a wish for- for her to find comfort in the arms of Morana, and for Adilet and Ashtad to insure punishment for her killer."

Mewtwo blinked at the three unfamiliar names, and then connected the dots. _"Morana is the god of death, then?"_

"Technically, she's the Goddess of the souls of the dead. Athanasius-" She pronounced the word slowly, 'ath-eh-nay-shes', so he couldn't possibly make a mistake if he had to say the name at a later date. "-is the one who gathers the souls to her. Adilet and Ashtad are the Twins of Justice."

Mewtwo nodded, and then peered at the Detective. _"I never took you for religious."_

"Well. Now you know." She stood up and brushed at the seat of her jeans. "We going to get back to work or what?"

"_Mm."_ Mewtwo stood up as well, and tilted his head. _"Where did you find all this out, anyways?"_

"When I was younger, I was really interested, joined a Temple and everything. If I actually had bookshelves they'd cover one wall of the living room. Almost failed one whole year of school because I was so busy looking up Islander history and stuff. Then I ran into that bastard and couldn't go to Temple anymore and besides, Sheryl and Leon didn't live close enough for me to walk."

August 2, 8:45 A.M.

"Well, missing persons was a bust," Brenda grumbled. She perched on a corner of Mewtwo's desk- earning a glare, but she was ignoring him in favor of her rant. "No one's called in a missing girl of this description. Come on! She's freaking twelve years old, right? Someone's got to be looking for her."

"_Someone who doesn't want police attention?"_ Mewtwo suggested, giving a few not-so-subtle pokes with a pencil. Brenda swatted at his hand, and got off his desk.

"Probably. Especially with what Hades told us." Jabbered, actually. It was mind boggling that actual people actually talked like that. She glared down at Mewtwo, who glared right back. "How're we supposed to find the bastards if they're avoiding us, huh?"

"_I thought you were the senior cop, shouldn't you know?"_

She rolled her eyes, and sighed. "Okay, look up genetic manipulation shit, find out who's researching it, who's for it and who's against it, any laws about it- the whole cartload. We'll start there."

Mewtwo nodded, and Brenda drifted over to her desk. She had a few things to clear up on some old cases and anyways, he was better at research then she was.

Most of what she had to do was for the paper pushers. Days she was available for court, days she wasn't, a confirmation of what she'd say on the stand, no surprises. She paused over one odd piece of paper, skimmed it, and then rolled her eyes. Someone needed her confirmation for something- medal, she thought. The phrases screamed medal. Though what she'd done lately to deserve one, she didn't know… Maybe Mewtwo, after all, he'd helped with that Team Rocket thing.

She scrawled her name on the dotted line and set it on top of her computer monitor, for one of the interns to grab. Then she went back to her paperwork, until her hand cramped and her sore back muscles proclaimed it break time.

"Smith," she barked. "You got anything for me, yet?"

"_Several things, Detective,"_ Mewtwo said. His voice was tight, a reminder of the temper he had. Brenda arched her eyebrows, and stood up.

"Print it out, we'll take it to a conference room then." She rolled her shoulders and was rewarded with her spine popping and cracking. It hurt, but in a good way, and in no time she and Mewtwo were holed up in the smallest of the conference rooms, papers strewn over the table.

Mewtwo, fortunately, was wielding the highlighter. He didn't even have to hold it.

Brenda grabbed one of the papers, and squinted at the print. It wasn't that the print was small, but when it was filled with phrases like 'restriction fragment length polymorphism' her mind started to boggle. She even thought she'd seen it before, but damned if she knew what it meant!

Mewtwo took the paper back, and frowned at her. She scowled back. "What the hell is that?" she said, gesturing at the paper. "Restriction fragmentary length polymorphic whatever?"

"_It's a comparison test, police scientists use it often. It's used to see if there's a DNA sample in the departmental files. You might have heard about rifflips?"_

"Oh. Those things." Brenda leaned back in her chair. "I hate scientists."

Mewtwo shuffled the paper back into one of the piles. _"Don't we all,"_ he muttered, then looked up at her. _"What do you know about cloning?"_

"Uh…" Brenda closed her eyes and ducked her chin. "Give me a moment. Saw a show on the Discovery Channel about it, I think. You take a part of a cell, and stick it in an egg, and when the egg hatches you've got something exactly like whatever you used as the source material of the cell. I think."

Mewtwo massaged his forehead, and, she thought, groaned. _"You have it somewhat mixed up. For one thing, mammals don't lay eggs. There are egg _cells_, but they don't hatch."_

"Is this going to turn into a lecture? And will I need to take notes?"

"_Probably, and I doubt it. May I continue?"_

"Sure."

"_Good. Now, to clone a creature, you take the egg cell, remove the DNA inside it, and insert the DNA from the source material. The egg is then tricked into thinking it has been fertilized- I don't have to explain that? No? Good- and starts the process of becoming a new creature, genetically identical to the source."_

"The source which isn't the one doing the, uh, stomach thing," Brenda said, gesturing at her own abdomen.

"_Right,"_ Mewtwo said, sounding amused. She attempted to kick him under the table, but he was out of her reach. _"Generally, clones can be likened to identical twins. It also happens in nature- many plants, for instance, clone themselves, and bacteria reproduce by cloning."_

"Okay, great over view. Now, summarize what you've gotten for me?" She gestured at the papers, and lifted her eyebrows.

The look Mewtwo gave the papers had to be one he'd picked up from her. Without saying a word, he managed to convey that what he was looking at was lower then slime and should be turned into a fine ash at the earliest opportunity. _"I have killed several trees for information on how to alter a clone's DNA-"_ There was no way she could have imagined him growling, he was baring his teeth the slightest bit, and his tail was twitching. _"-simply, cutting out the genes that are unwanted, and 'pasting' the ones you want in the gap."_

"Sounds risky. Another reason to hate scientists, then."

"_The rest is simply more details on cloning, how it is done- nothing you need to know just now. If it is required, I'll have this in my desk."_

"Thanks." Brenda narrowed her eyes as most of the papers were shuffled up and set aside in one pile. "The rest of the papers?"

"_People and companies involved in cloning in some form or other. The two major companies- Silph Co. and a biotechnology company, Helix- are the major investors in it, currently. The rest- chemists and physiologists, geneticists- are either working for differing branches of Silph and Helix, or are independent workers studying natural clones."_

"Also known as identical twins, plants, and germs," Brenda said, and nodded. "We'll give the independent ones a look, but something feels wrong about them."

"_Cloning requires a great deal of money, Detective."_ Something dark flickered in Mewtwo's eyes; Brenda found herself staring at him, unable to move. _"Independent researchers are unlikely to have the necessary funds for all the equipment."_

"But you need groups for this sort of thing."

"_Yes."_ The darkness was clearer now, clouding the purple of Mewtwo's eyes, turning them almost black. Brenda tensed and clenched her fists. _"Shall we get started?"_

"Ah, sure. I want you to look up the individuals first, see if any of them have any connections to anyone else- if they do, poke a little, do your best to see what their finances are like." She frowned. "Scientists write research papers, don't they? See what they've written on cloning, if it applies to making kids stronger or whatever."

Mewtwo nodded, and fished three papers out of the small pile. _"There is one scientist, a Dr. Fuji, who wrote a paper even you should understand."_

Brenda took the papers, and scanned the opening paragraph. Complicated, but if she read it slow, she could probably understand most of it. "Look hardest at this guy," she said.

"_I would."_ Mewtwo's voice made her look up; it was dark, angry and hinting at forbidden things. _"Except that he's dead."_

"Oh." She looked down at her papers. "So this is only for my education?"

"_Yes."_

"Okay then. I guess I'd better get started. So should you."

Sunday, August 2, 12:30 P.M.

Brenda rubbed one hand over her face, and headed for the coffee pot. Despite implying that she would be dumping the entire load on Mewtwo, she'd taken her fair share of scientists to investigate. She'd managed to toss about half of her group out the window- scientists were a small, complex group, but most of them only knew each other through conventions. A few had closer connections, and she'd put those names aside to be looked at with an eye to conspiracies.

The coffee pot was half full of questionable, halfway solid, sludge. She shrugged and poured herself a mug, and took a sip. The sludge was strong enough that it raised the hairs on the back of her arms, and her mouth puckered. She swallowed it down through force of will alone, and gagged. It was good enough to keep her going until the end of shift.

In a gesture of good will, she fiddled with the coffee machine, remembering to empty the grind basket into the garbage can, put in a new filter, and pour in fresh grinds. She made sure the coffee pot was centered under the spout, and pressed the 'brew' button.

Only then did she realized there was still sludge in the pot. After a moment's thought, she shrugged. The addition of fresh coffee would only improve the taste, and texture.

She picked up her mug, and started for her desk. She glanced over at Mewtwo, frowning at the way he was hunched over the computer. He'd get a sore back if he kept that up. Then, when the entire bullpen hissed and started muttering, she looked over at the hallway.

The man was a cop, no mistaking that, but no proper cop would let himself be seen dressed like that. Most cops, in Brenda's experience, were either in uniform, or were plainclothes like she was, and able to choose their own 'uniform' for the job. The cop striding across the bullpen was dressed in a conservative suit in a cut normally saved for lawyer types.

Internal Affairs Bureau, also known as the Rat Squad. They investigated their fellow cops, they worked out of the Tower, and IAB was where psychic cops were sent to work. The man was heading towards her- or he was heading towards Mewtwo. That would never do.

Brenda glanced at her fellow cops, and clenched her teeth. No help there; most cops avoided the Rat Squad like the Kiss of Death. She squared her shoulders, and walked towards the IAB cop, a sneer fixed to her lips like the shield it was.

"What do you want?" she snarled. "Can't you see we're trying to work here?"

"Detective Johnson?" The man half smiled when she nodded. "I'm just here to remind you that you have an appointment in two days, for Testing. Please report to the seventh floor of the Tower at nine-thirty, Tuesday."

Brenda took a deep breath, then let it out. "Fine. I'll be there." She ignored the looks of sympathy her fellow cops were giving her, just continued to glare at the IAB minion of doom.

"_Detective? What was that about?"_

"None of your business," she snapped, and got back to work.

**End Notes**

So, at seven pages this still managed to end up being shorter then the first chapter, which was somewhere around 5,000 words, and this one being only 3,000 or so. Then again, lots more dialogue in this chapter, so I guess it ended up looking longer. Either way.

Look out for more details on clones, cloning, and the effect reading about that sort of thing is having on our favorite clone next chapter. Either that or Brenda'll try to kill an IAB shrink, whichever happens first.


	3. Destroyed Mortality

Destroyed Mortality

Monday, August 3, 8:45 A.M.

"I hate paper trails," Brenda grumbled. Mewtwo just waved one hand in her direction, his other seeming to clatter over the keyboard. It wasn't, she knew. His actual fingers were too big for the keys, so it had to be telekinesis. Still, she didn't want to interrupt whatever he was on, because it might be the break they needed.

Brenda was still slogging through her share of the list, working out connections- or lack of them- between researchers, biochemists, companies, laboratories, and she didn't even know what else. After an hour, her brain was on auto-pilot. If something nagged at her, she'd engage, but until then… No chance, there were too many science words for anything to make sense at her.

Fortunately, she'd developed the semi-photographic memory all good cops got. She wouldn't remember any of this shit after shift, but for now, it was pretty damn clear in her mind.

A lot of the people on her list worked for either different arms of Silph Co. or Helix. It figured that for the science branches the two companies would hire scientists, so it wasn't suspicious. Still, it was damn annoying.

She heard Mewtwo suck in a breath, and saw the flicker in his illusion. She stared at him instead of her computer screen. Was she going to have to threaten everyone in the bullpen to ignore the six and a half foot psychic pokemon?

No, she realized. Everything was good so far. He was pissed, but nothing had exploded yet.

"Find something?" she asked, leaning back in her chair. The hinges squeaked, and she winced. Her old chair was just getting older.

"_I might have, yes."_ Mewtwo swiveled his chair so he could look at her. _"It might be nothing, but I thought I recognized a name. I'd like to wait and be sure, though."_

"Sure. What name, and where do you think you recognize it from?"

Mewtwo shook his head. _"Dekker, Michael. A geneticist who works for a division of Helix. As for where I recognize it from, I don't remember."_ He frowned. _"Does the name have any connections on your list?"_

Brenda closed her eyes, the better to think. "Not that I can remember off the top of my head. I'll keep an eye out though."

Mewtwo nodded, and turned back to his computer. After a moment, Brenda did the same.

Monday, August 3, 11:32 A.M.

Mewtwo stared at the computer screen, and considered blowing it up. It was the third time a halfway familiar name had cropped up, and he wasn't sure if it was paranoia or self-centeredness that had him considering the possibility that- no. These people were all alive. He had made sure that the scientists who had created him died. Barely an hour alive and already a murderer.

The thought twisted his stomach, so he shoved it away. Working with cops hadn't given him his distaste for murder; ten years of life had. There were better ways of dealing with problems, ways that didn't end in bloodshed. The cops had just cemented that view in his mind.

He didn't think about Giovanni. That had been… He didn't even know how to classify what that situation had been. The whole week had been insane. How he'd managed to survive with his sanity intact, he didn't know.

Then again… He glanced around the bullpen, and smirked. Perhaps he wasn't quite as sane as he thought, considering where he now worked.

He had a job. He had a bank account and a debt card to go with it. He had neighbors and co-workers and a lunatic partner who was poking his shoulder and-

"_What?"_ he snapped, glaring up at Brenda. Even with her standing and him sitting in a chair, he didn't have that far to look up.

"Lunch time, idiot. Come on, your treat."

"_I am not paying for your lunch,"_ he protested. He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, curling his tail around the seat back despite the fact that no one could see it. _"I want to finish these lists-"_

"You need a break." She grabbed his arm and started pulling. He shook his head, amused despite himself. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. She wouldn't be able to budge him.

He'd forgotten that his chair was on wheels.

The Detective had managed to drag him almost to the hallway by the time he managed to stop himself. Officer Carmichael, whose desk he grabbed, yelped and grabbed at a pile of papers.

"Watch it! Damn, Johnson, leave Smith alone! What's so important anyways?"

Brenda turned and smiled at Carmichael. "Shut up, cannon fodder."

Carmichael shut up.

Then Brenda turned her smile on Mewtwo, and he found himself getting up and pushing his chair back in the general direction of his desk.

"_So,"_ he said, deciding to admit defeat. _"Where are we going for lunch?"_

They ended up sitting down at 'The Olive Grove', a new restaurant nearly halfway across town from the station. Mewtwo eyed the completely vegetarian menu, and then looked at Brenda.

"_And what are you going to have?"_ he asked. Already he could feel knots of tension in his shoulders relax. Perhaps getting away from the lists had been a good idea.

"They can't do anything too weird to fries," she replied. She continued to stare at the menu as if it would bite her. "And I'm pretty sure their milkshakes won't kill me."

"_You drink that sludge at the station, I'm sure you'll survive an organic milkshake."_ Amusement colored his voice. _"Just think, no preservatives, no artificial coloring or flavors…"_

"Shut up."

Mewtwo smirked, and ordered his food. Brenda did the same, and then they lapsed into silence. For about five seconds.

"How can you stand to eat this stuff? Its nidoran food is what it is."

"_New rule. No whining about my dietary choices."_

"Dietary? The rules have to be understandable, you know."

"_It is understandable."_

Brenda retaliated with a kick that would have shattered his leg, if he hadn't shifted. It was a direct violation of the 'no hitting, kicking, or biting' rule, but he decided not to make a case for it. She was eating at a vegetarian restaurant. Such a sacrifice deserved some leniency.

"So why don't you?" she asked, picking up a packet of sugar and starting to fiddle with it.

"_What?"_

"Huh?"

Mewtwo closed his eyes. She had to be doing this on purpose. There was no way anyone could do that by accident.

"_Detective, why don't I what?"_

"Eat meat."

He rolled his eyes heavenwards. Of all the questions… _"I am an intelligent creature. Intelligent creatures do not need to eat the badly seared flesh of other creatures."_

"Good thing you didn't call a mareep intelligent. They aren't. They're fucking morons."

Mewtwo stared at her a moment. _"You don't know that from experience. Do you?"_

"Foster child," was her answer.

"_Right then… As I was saying. Being intelligent, I can choose whether to eat meat or not, and I prefer to eat fruits and vegetables. They're easier to get, anyways."_

Brenda snorted, and shook her head. "You're a fucking piece of work," she muttered. "Okay, what about the part where you've got fangs that are obviously meant for meat, not plants?"

"_You have fangs too,"_ he pointed out.

"Yeah, but I eat meat."

The waitress brought the food at that point, ending what was rapidly becoming a rather pointless discussion. Mewtwo started eating right away, not having to worry about talking with his mouth full. Brenda hesitated, poking at her fries with her fork.

"You don't ever worry about the important stuff, do you?" she asked, then started eating.

Mewtwo narrowed his eyes. _"Just what do you mean by that?"_ he asked.

The Detective looked up at him, lips twitching. "You know, the God of Doom voice doesn't scare me."

"_God of- what?"_

"God of Doom. Your voice gets lower when you start getting angry. You never noticed?"

Mewtwo pinched the bridge of his nose. _"Detective,"_ he warned.

"See? God of Doom voice. You're very good at it."

"_Can we stick to the topic, please?"_

"What's the topic?"

"_According to you, that I never worry about the important things."_

Brenda tapped one finger against the table, a look of intense concentration on her face. Mewtwo just stared. How this woman could be one of the most feared police officers in Viridian City, he didn't know. He spent the most time with her, and only her driving gave any cause for concern.

"Oh, right!" Brenda's entire face brightened. "Now I remember! I heard somewhere that the reason humans got smart was because they ate meat. Something to do with the protein. Sure you don't have any problems with that sort of thing?"

She was pulling that into the argument? He shook his head. _"If I were going to have any problems, I'd be showing them by now. Obviously, I'm fine."_

She gave him a look that made it very clear she wasn't sure she believed him, but subsided.

There was a few minutes of quiet while they ate, listening to the quiet conversations of other diners. The restaurant wasn't very busy, filled with a crowd of people in their early-twenties.

Brenda's cell phone buzzed. Mewtwo arched one eyebrow, impressed that she'd managed to hear that. He barely could, and his hearing was better then hers.

"Hello?" she asked, then scowled. The cell phone buzzed again. Obviously, she'd forgotten to accept the call.

She pressed the appropriate button, then held the phone to her ear again. "What?"

Mewtwo did his best not to listen in. He stared at the plants decorating the restaurant. When Brenda snapped the cell phone closed and growled, he looked back at her.

"_Problem?"_

"Suspicious death, we're closest, come on."

Mewtwo decided not to mention that Brenda paid for both their lunches. He decided it didn't matter, anyways. He hadn't brought any money.

Monday, August 3, 12:22 P.M.

Brenda shoved her hands in her pockets, and stepped up to the crying couple. She'd already talked to the responding officer on scene. He'd told her that the couple was the parents, that their daughter was in the laundry room dead, and that he didn't think he could describe the scene even if he tried.

Fortunately, the officer obviously didn't have any hopes of joining Homicide, just seemed happy on the street beat. He didn't have the eyes for a Homicide cop.

"Hello. I'm Detective Johnson. I know you already spoke with Officer Mallory, but I'm going to need to talk to you again." She didn't offer her hand; neither person would have taken it.

The father, who had been sobbing harder then the mother, rubbed at his eyes. "My girl," he rasped. "My little girl…"

The mother sniffled, and shook her head. "She's dead," she told Brenda. "She- it must have been a home invasion. Some monster came in and- we told the other officer this already. Why do we have to go over it again?"

In difference to the plaintive, lost quality of the couple's voices, Brenda spoke gently, when what she really wanted to do was smack the both of them upside the head. It wouldn't help, in any way. She could always snipe at Mewtwo later to feel better.

A certain psychic's tail smacked into her calf, and she glanced over. Mewtwo appeared to be studying the house, but he was very obviously listening in on her thoughts.

She attempted to kick his tail, but of course couldn't see it, so she just ended up stomping her foot strangely. No one seemed to notice.

"I know this is difficult for you," she soothed. "But I'm the one in charge of your daughter's case, and I need all the information you can give me, so I can help her."

The father choked back a sob. "My wife- we went out grocery shopping. Lucinda didn't want to go, wanted to stay home. We weren't going to be gone that long."

"And how old is Lucinda?"

"Sixteen," the mother answered. She pressed one hand to her cheek. "We got held up, a bit. Traffic, you know? When we came home- she wouldn't answer our calls. We looked for her- and she was in the laundry room. She was… I can't say."

Brenda nodded, and looked over at the house. "I'm going to see to your daughter now," she said. "Give you some time to collect yourself. Then I'm going to come back and we'll go over those details. I know this is hard, but it has to be done."

"It's not like this on TV," the father said. "It's just not."

"TV's never realistic," Brenda agreed, and headed towards the house. Mewtwo fell into step with her.

"_You never got their names,"_ he said, just short of accusing.

"Nope. I'll get them after this."

"_Isn't that lazy?"_

"No, well, not really. Officer Mallory has the names, I'll talk with him. I wanted to see the scene without any preconceived notions."

Mewtwo stopped walking for a moment. _"Do you even know what preconceived means?"_ he asked.

"Of course I do. It means going into a situation already knowing what's happened, even if that's not the case. Now shut up and get moving. Which way's the laundry room?"

"_Down the stairs and to the left. How are we supposed to take on two investigations at once?"_

"What, can't you juggle?"

"_Not very well."_

"And that's why girls are better then guys."

"What_? How do you get that from… From…"_ They'd reached the scene. Mewtwo's illusion fell and his jaw dropped. He looked over at Brenda, who seemed just as stunned.

It took a moment, but Mewtwo finally gathered himself and spoke to Brenda.

"_If girls are better then guys, then why hasn't a guy ever died like _this_?"_

"Auto-erection gone bad," she answered, still staring at the scene. Mewtwo winced. True enough.

"_Still,"_ he tried again. _"Why would anyone, male or female, do something _this_ stupid?"_

"Preconceived notions," Brenda warned. "We don't know she did it to herself."

Mewtwo gestured at the scene. _"Are you trying to tell me that someone overpowered this girl, pulled her pants down, shoved a broom up her- her- ah, there, and then tripped her so she'd fall and be, ah…"_ There really was no polite way to say it. Or impolite way, he suspected. The mind boggled.

"Footprints on the dryer suggests she was standing on it," Brenda said. "Sweaty feet. I'd guess she was there voluntarily, tripped and fell wrong. Only question now is if she was alone or not."

Mewtwo blinked, and shook his head. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, and the sight of the body- and the broom- wasn't exactly a comfortable one.

"Your mind boggling yet?" Brenda asked, daring to grin.

"_You can't tell me yours isn't."_

"Well, no, but I guess I deal with weird shocks better then you do."

There was only so long you could be polite to the dead. Mewtwo reached his limit. _"Detective, the girl has a broom shoved up her crotch. There is _nothing_ weirder then this."_

"I don't know. I've always thought reality shows were right up there on the what-the-fuck scale."

"_Detective…"_

"Yeah, yeah. Go let the coroner's schmucks know they can take the body, would you? Then send in crime scene. I'll talk to the weepy ones."

Mewtwo shook his head, and went to do just that.

In the course of half an hour, they established that all the doors and windows were locked, no one had tried to pick the locks, that Lucinda didn't have a current boyfriend, and her parents were extremely, as Brenda put it, 'by the book', whatever she meant by that.

"You just don't understand religion," she'd said, when he'd asked.

He resolved to take a good, long look at religion, the first chance he got.

"Okay," Brenda said, calling all the cops together. "The way I see it, this probably isn't a home invasion gone weird. I'm going to bet that she was trying to scratch an itch, thought she heard her parents coming in, panicked, slipped, fell wrong and bashed her head into the shelf, and bled out, in that order. We'll know for sure once crime scene and the coroner's done."

Officer Mallory nodded. "Do you want me to talk to the parents?" he asked.

"Get a departmental shrink," she advised. "They're not going to take it well."

"Their daughter was playing with a literal woody, who would?" Mallory asked, then shrugged at the looks Brenda and Mewtwo gave him. "What?"

Brenda rolled her eyes. "Definitely take a departmental shrink with you, and let the shrink do the talking," she said. Then she scowled, and pulled out her cell phone. "Johnson."

Mewtwo shook his head. How she could hear her cell phone, he didn't know. He hadn't even heard it, that time.

The Detective snarled, and looked up to meet his eyes. She snapped the phone closed, not even bothering to say goodbye. "We need to go to Oakland Park," she said. "There's another kid, and a shitload of smashed mirrors."

Mewtwo clenched one fist, and found himself growling.

**End Notes**

Not sure if it's an urban legend or not, but I did hear of someone who died in that manner with the broomstick. Must've been awkward for the family and friends of the dead. Please leave a review before you hit the back button.


	4. Perfection for the Rich

Perfection for the Rich

Tuesday, August 4, 9:30 A.M.

Brenda pounded once on the office door, then let herself in. She stomped over to her usual chair, plopped down and planted her feet on the coffee table, and then looked up at the shrink.

After a pause, she cleared her throat. "You're not Dr. Boris."

The man behind the desk looked up from the papers in his hand and raised one eyebrow. "Astute observation. Anything else you'd like to take note of, or can we begin?"

"What happened to Dr. Boris?"

"He has taken an early retirement to a cooler climate. I am Dr. Sullivan, I will be your new psychiatric consultation evaluator." The second eyebrow lifted, and a slight smile curved Dr. Sullivan's lips. It made him look like a used car salesmen, Brenda decided.

She scowled, and folded her arms. "I don't like you," she stated.

"Well, nice to see you are honest. Settle in, get comfortable. This could take a while."

Brenda narrowed her eyes. "Why'll it take a while?" she asked, just about growling. "I've got things to do.

"Don't we all, though?" Dr. Sullivan motioned to the papers. "I have been looking over your files. You seem to have quite the fascinating behavioral history. Now, one could say that you just didn't get enough hugs as a child, but I think it goes a little deeper than that."

"I got enough." Not even five minutes, she had to be here for half an hour. And what did he mean, not enough hugs? "What're you even talking about?"

"Well, it's really pretty straightforward. All the symptoms are there, or at least enough that I am rather surprised Dr. Boris didn't notice it sooner. Especially with your school records taken into account..."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Borderline Personality Disorder. As I said, it is quite straightforward. Unstable mood swings, difficulties maintaining interpersonal relationships, extreme opinions on right and wrong if, again, I go into your school records.

"Honestly, a textbook case... if you're interested in textbooks." The doctor paused, looking over the tops of his little glasses at Brenda.

She took a deep breath. Calm, calm, she could do calm. "What the fuck do you mean by that?" The growling probably wasn't calm, but she didn't really care.

"Well, if these records are any indication then school was never your top priority. It seems like talking like a lady didn't rank highly, either."

It took a second to figure out just what he meant by that. "What?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very definitive drawl? Granted, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I find accents are just one more spice to life, really."

Brenda pushed up out of the chair, and cleared her throat. Carefully enunciating, she spoke. "I do not have an accent." Everyone else had the accent. She, however, didn't. "You are an idiot given a doctorate. You haven't any idea- I am _not_ suffering from a personality disorder. If I do have a problem, then it _might_ be minor post traumatic stress syndrome, which I've dealt with."

"You have proven my point for me. Like PTS, Borderline Personality Disorder can be caused by childhood trauma. Given what you have been through, it is not surprising that you have picked up something along the way."

"You have NO idea what I've been through." Brenda sliced one hand through the air. "I- you- I refuse to speak with you. Have your superiors assign someone else to me- someone more intelligent!"

Dr. Sullivan sighed. He eyed Brenda, rather like her grade school principal had after yet another fight.

There was only so long anyone could be expected to deal with that look. She hadn't been able to leave when she'd been in school, but she was an adult now. If she didn't want to stay, she didn't have to. She spun on one heel and stormed towards the door. She yanked it open, and was about to step outside when the doctor spoke up.

"I am not trying to be your enemy, Detective Johnson. I call matters as I see them. Other psychologists will tell you the same thing I have, especially after seeing an outburst like this."

She stopped in the doorway, glared over her shoulder. "Would you like me to demonstrate defenestration? Because I have no qualms. We're on the second floor, you'll survive the fall."

He gave a small laugh. "Borderline Personality Disorder is a rather small thing compared to what you would be diagnosed with for throwing me out of that window."

Only one response to that. Brenda gave a small yell of frustration and slammed the door behind her.

Tuesday, August 4, 9:42 A.M.

Brenda pulled out her cell phone and punched in a familiar number. She'd have to put it on speed dial, one of these days. If she could figure out how. She'd get Mewtwo to do it. Her eyebrow twitched when the ringing stopped, and she launched into her complaint.

"I am going to eviscerate that parasite Sullivan."

"What--Brenda? Who's Sullivan?" Sheryl looked blearily at her phone. "Isn't it a little early in the day to be thinking about evisceration?"

"Ten in the morning? Never mind- look, Sullivan's my new IAB shrink bucket of slime. He said I had a personality disorder. I do not have a personality disorder. Just because some people have issues with strong minded women does not automatically mean I have some sort of disorder."

"Causing grievous bodily harm to said shrink would give his hypothesis some credit, Brenda." Sheryl put her hand over the mouthpiece of her phone as she yawned. Two hours of sleep would have to do. "He put a word before personality disorder, I'd guess?"

"First he insulted my- _do_ I have an accent?"

"Everyone has an accent. Yours is just more noticeable for someone from this area."

"I _grew up_ in this area!"

"And you still have an accent when you get upset."

"He said I had an accent just talking," she grumbled. "He's a moron."

"What else did he say?" Sheryl asked patiently. If the only concern was Brenda's accent, she was going to go back to sleep and let Leon handle matters for once.

"Borderline personality disorder. I do not have a borderline personality disorder."

"This was your first visit with the man?"

"Yes."

"I'd recommend a second opinion, if you don't trust that shrink. Personality disorders aren't well named. It's more of a way of seeing the world than a psychiatric problem."

"Sheryl, you're lecturing. Anyways, what's slime-bucket know?" Complaining to a receptive ear soothed her temper. She smirked, and started walking down the street. "He was looking at Dr. Boris's notes, and I had that guy so scared he couldn't look at me without pissing his pants."

Sheryl paused. "Do you want me to look into the slime-bucket? The Tower is usually very careful about new hires." She didn't need to mention that Dr. Boris had been terrified of police officers, even before meeting Brenda.

"I don't care. He says I have a disorder. I have altophobia. If he's mixing phobias with disorders, then he cheated on his exams."

"What exactly did he say about borderline personality disorder?"

"Uh. Mood swings, unable to hold relationships, extreme opinions, right and wrong- I was imagining him being dipped into a bucket of acid, I wasn't really paying attention."

"Bren, are you going to try telling me that you don't have mood swings?" Sheryl asked, settling in for a very long conversation. Maybe Leon would make coffee, if he heard that she was awake.

"My mood doesn't swing," she pointed out.

"And you also don't have inflexible opinions about right and wrong, opinions set in stone, and trouble with interpersonal relationships." If a book had been in reach, Sheryl might have hit it against her forehead just to make a point. She settled for looking irritated with herself. "You've been unhappy for the last couple years, Bren, but I didn't think it was anything like this."

"I've been fine. I'll be better if I can catch the bastard killing little girls."

Sheryl didn't belabor the point. "What did your slime-ball say about treatment?"

"I left before he could say anything," she admitted. "It was either that or- defenestration. You know."

"I do know. Do you still have the paperwork on file that I can review your records with the shrinks? I can talk with Dr. Slime-ball and see what he recommends." Sheryl would forcibly have her daughter's case transferred, if needed. Brenda was finally coming back into herself, and no doctor would mess that up.

"Do whatever you want, Sheryl. I'd guess so. His name's Sullivan, he talks like some sort of inbred upper-crust pansy, and he looks like a dough ball."

"Are you okay, Bren? You might fit some symptoms in the man's diagnostics manual, but that doesn't mean that you have the disorder. It's badly classified."

"I'm fine. Just pissed off because some moron... Yeah. I'm going to go work now. You... go back to whatever it was that you were doing."

"I'm not going to go back to sleep when you're upset, Brenda. Do you want to talk about something? Dough ball, your case..."

She shook her head. "Its fine, I'm at the station anyways. Hey, can I have a new car for my birthday?"

"A car, or a police car? I can't get you a police car without doing something illegal."

"Damn. Fine, I'll go through legal channels then. Talk to you later."

"Dinner later this week, maybe? Some of this could use a face-to-face, and I need someone to badger Leon for me. Our big strong tough man doesn't like testing his blood sugar."

"Aw, does he have a problem with needles?" Brenda snickered, getting a few odd looks from passing cops. "Friday good? I won't be able to bring Smith, though. He's doing his best to be a pain in the ass."

"You laugh, I'm turning into a nag," Sheryl grumbled. "Friday is fine, but please do attempt to drag Mewtwo along. Leon might try looking tougher if there's another guy around."

"I'll do my best," she promised, and snapped the phone closed before any more of the conversation could be overheard. She glared at a few would-be eavesdroppers, pleased when they scattered.

She didn't have a disorder!

Tuesday, August 4, 9:30 A.M.  
Viridian City Morgue

Mewtwo hung his visitor's pass around his necks, and frowned. It was easier to work an illusion based off real things. He would never manage to get realistic wings sprouting from his back, for instance, unless he actually _had_ wings, and he didn't. As for such complicated details as identification cards, it was better just to have the real thing and skip illusionary fakes.

He needed some way to carry all the necessary bits and pieces of his human life, though. Perhaps a bag, though how he'd hold on to it, he didn't know.

And all his thinking on _that_ subject was only so he wouldn't think about the reason he was walking into a morgue. Only, of course, distractions only worked so long as there were no reminders of what one was trying to avoid. Mewtwo shoved all thoughts of bags and driver's licenses (which he hadn't thought he'd need, but apparently he required _some_ sort of identification) and credit cards and rent for his apartment- he shoved it all away. He had to focus.

_"Dr. McClure?"_ he asked, shoving open the morgue door. _"Are you available?"_

The coroner looked away from the autopsy table, startled. "Detec--Officer Smith." He carefully pulled a sheet over the body, as he was at a part of the examination that could be interrupted. "Pausing autopsy to consult with Officer Smith about the ongoing case," Ben said into his recorder. "Time is nine-thirty-two, August fourth." He turned the device off and set it on the autopsy table.

Mewtwo arched an eyebrow. _"Thorough,"_ he said. He had to wonder if his voice would show up on the recorder. Probably not. Digital technology and telepathy didn't mix very well. _"I have a few questions about your report on the first victim, and was wondering if you could tell me anything about the second."_

The coroner smiled a little at the compliment, but shook his head. "Standard protocol, officer. One of the secretaries takes transcripts of the recordings, which end up on file. Following that same protocol, I'm not ready to give you my official findings just yet. If you have time to stay in the lab, however, I can release a few preliminary hypotheses."

_"That would be appreciated."_ Mewtwo twitched his tail behind him, and gestured with one hand at the shrouded body. _"How did she die?"_ he asked.

"The wound is very similar, with severe trauma to the C3, C4, and C5 vertebrae, but the damage suggests that the murderer's methods changed slightly."

Ben debated for a moment before carefully pulling back the sheet to show the victim's face. The pale features were identical to the first girl's. "I have already had the faster genetic testing done, showing that this victim's DNA is very similar to the first Jane Doe's. I believe that they both are clones of some other girl, not each other, but cannot be sure until the full DNA sequence is ready."

Mewtwo froze. _"Clones?"_ His voice wavered slightly, and he knew his illusion had flickered. He strengthened it, and continued. _"Why do you suggest clones?"_

Ben, eyes on the second Jane Doe, didn't notice the shift in illusion. "Because the two girls are different, in ways that are very suggestive of genetic manipulation. It is very hard to explain just what is different, but a coroner sees many, many bodies. Both Jane Does have been... more compact, perhaps? Their GI tract seems disproportionately long, in the small intestine."

Mewtwo blinked, and looked from the body, to the doctor. _"What is a GI tract, and why would a longer one make for a more compact... ah, person?"_

It was not an easy feeling, realizing he sounded rather like Brenda when confronted with science.

Ben frowned. "It's a contradiction, actually--I'm sorry, the GI tract is the gastrointestinal tract, better known as the gut. The small intestine seems a little longer than I would expect for a girl this size, but it's too narrow. A long, thin small intestine would help with the digestion of food, and make the process of digestion more efficient."

He was still frowning as he eased the sheet back into place. "The pattern of the epiphyseal plates--the growth plates at the end of bones, which fuse when a bone is fully grown--is very similar. The first victim had a more pronounced muscle mass to the thigh and leg."

_"So they're not identical,"_ he paraphrased, relieved. _"How can you suggest cloning then? Perhaps they're twins."_

Ben shook his head. "The first victim's DNA could not have occurred naturally. At best, both identical twins were subject to extreme genetic experimentation, with each girl being modified in a slightly different pattern. I don't like this, though. The..." He cut himself off, and stared at the floor for a moment before continuing.

"Whatever sick scientist played games with their lives was far too deft with the process. I do not believe these girls could have been the first to be raised by this artificial process. I hate speculation, but I must suspect that these are not the only clones we will find. Even saying 'clone' is speculation, but I feel that it is based on data that I have already obtained."

Well, there went that faint hope. Mewtwo stared at the shrouded body, finding it hard to believe. Perhaps there was something to Brenda's calling him an optimist. Despite everything, he'd hoped that all attempts at cloning had ended, that he was the only poor soul forced to eke out this sort of existence. Idly, more to do something then to give vent to his emotions- which were numb, anyways- he reached out with his mind and lifted a scalpel.

He studied the instrument for a moment, and then slammed it point down into the tray. He growled, and clenched his paws. _"I do not like this,"_ he said, managing to sound mostly calm. _"And I do not like these kinds of scientists."_

Ben tugged gently at the scapula embedded in the metal. "Officer Smith, do you mind budging that out for me?" He had no problems with psychics, but psychics in his examination room made him nervous. "My office is open, if you would prefer to talk somewhere else. I don't like those scientists, either." He pulled another sterilized scalpel, still sealed in plastic, from the drawer. "Everything about this case... this science goes against every part of the oath that doctors take. I'm a medical doctor who works with the dead."

Mewtwo sighed, and did as asked. One slightly bent, dulled scalpel was set down, gently, on the now battered tray. _"Sorry. I don't... I really don't like this type of..."_ How much dared he trust Dr. McClure with? _"I have had some experience with the type of mind who would do... this,"_ he finally said, waving one hand at the body.

Ben studied the scalpel for a minute. "I wish that I didn't. This is my fourth case without Samuel looking over my shoulder." He set the scapula in the second drawer. "The edge on that is still sharp," he explained, nodding to the scapula. "It'll be fine for interns to practice with. I hate cases like this, because they're personal, but at least it'll do some good. We see a lot of scientists who want to go farther into research, and sometimes it takes bodies to straighten out priorities. I've had a few groups of new interns down for notes already, and all they needed to see was Miss Doe's face. The story will be out by the end of the week, and maybe that'll be enough to keep these researchers off of that path." They were just little girls, no matter what their bones told him. Little girls should never be science projects.

_"Samuel? Oh. The old coroner."_ Mewtwo nodded, and sighed. _"The rest of the cops won't be happy about a press leak. I know Detective Johnson won't be. I doubt anyone will be warned off this path. It will most likely interest those who research this vile practice. After all, now there's _proof_ that it can be done."_

"Press leak, officer? All researchers here are contracted. Any unapproved contact with the press is grounds for dismissal without references, and with any earned experience hours nullified." A few might still do it, but most of the interns were still in love with the idea of their contributions. "I don't share details. Ostensibly, they were here to learn about wound identification, with Miss Doe as a case study. They have heard enough about the genetic elements through office gossip, so I gave the victims a face."

Mewtwo felt tension he hadn't been aware of disappear. _"I wasn't sure how it worked, here,"_ he admitted. _"I'm still rather new at this."_

"Quite a few of our technicians are still enrolled in college, Officer Smith. If they are dismissed from their positions here, they will not be able to earn lab credit. We take confidentiality seriously, and some breaches in contract can be prosecuted." Ben relaxed a little when the police officer did, feeling that his lab was safer. "I would ask that you don't use information I give you in these meetings for official warrants, but I will be happy to guide investigations. If you would like to obtain a warrant, then I can give you data I have verified."

_"I'll make sure Detective Johnson knows,"_ he said, and made sure to smile. _"So. Cloning."_ Back to the numb emotions again. _"You said they had to have done this before?"_

"I..." Ben reached for his clipboard almost instinctively, to have something in his hands. "I do not like speculation, officer, but I find it difficult to believe that anyone could have succeeded on their first attempt to deviate so far from normal development. I have found a few physiological markers that the victims were sickly before their murder, including signs of cardiac distress, but they were very likely to have functioned at an enhanced level. I believe the first victim would have been especially fast, even compared to the second."

It was tempting to slam the scalpel back into the tray again, but Mewtwo refrained. Instead, he focused on his breathing, until he was certain he wouldn't do, say, or even think anything too hastily. _"There were more,"_ he repeated, and clenched his jaw. _"What happened to the ones that came before? They would have been even less healthy. Did they kill _them,_ leave _them_ to rot?"_

"I cannot speculate, Officer Smith," Ben said unhappily. "I doubt that I will find evidence, however." His expression hardened. "If I can find some link to a company, then I can have interns search through their documents until we know where the bastards ate their lunch. If you are amenable, I will start trying to find a way to locate these researchers."

Mewtwo's gaze shot to the doctor's face. _"Helix and the medical arms of Silph Co."_ he said. _"That's what's most likely. Doubtful anyone else would be able to get the funds or the space necessary, not without government funding."_ And if the children were government endorsed- he didn't want to think about that possibility. Better to assume they weren't and work from there.

Ben nodded slowly. "That helps, a little. It's probably a shadow company with no official link to Helix or Silph, but I think I should be able to find some detail." Especially if there are others, he thought. It seemed increasingly likely.

"Is there anything else you would like to know today, officer? Routine forensic examinations are being diverted, at the moment. One expert at the hospital is taking care of most cause-of-death autopsies, to give me enough time to work on this case. The lab considers this a priority, for both the level of scientific involvement and the apparent age of the victims."

Mewtwo shook his head. It was nice to know that the children were being given priority, but there was enough new information that any questions he'd had were silenced. _"Expect the Detective,"_ he said. _"I'll tell her what you told me, but she'll have more she'll want to know."_

"You are both welcome to stop in, together or individually," the coroner said. It was unusual for the coroner to be so closely involved with the police, but the chief executive of the police force had wanted the collaboration. Ben didn't mind the added interaction with the living at all. "I'll probably be here. If I'm not, I check my e-mail and cell phone regularly. All contact information for me is available at the front desk."

Mewtwo looked at the shrouded body one last time, and then acted on impulse. He held out one hand towards Ben. _"Thanks for the help."_

Ben shook the police officer's hand, a little shyly. "It's no problem, especially on a case like this. Everyone here wants the... the guilty in jail. I don't know a word strong enough."

Tuesday, August 4, 10:11 A.M.

He had to admit, he was beginning to understand Brenda's desire for a new car. Walking everywhere in town was not the most appealing modes of travel, and short of flying or teleporting everywhere he wanted to go, he was stuck with two feet and a great deal of concrete.

He kept his thoughts under firm control as he hurried from morgue to station. The last thing he needed was random objects flying around in reaction to his disquiet. Controlling his psychic powers had never been quite so hard before- but then, he'd never heard of other clones running around, either.

He'd created his own clones, of course, but of course he'd known about them. These were human clones, he hadn't known about them, and it was very frustrating to find out only because they were dying and being left to rot in parks.

He had to pause outside the station, gather his emotions and get his metaphorical hands around them. Of course, for a psychic, metaphorical hands were often just as real as physical hands. The mind really was a weapon.

He reached his desk without incident. The humans of the station seemed to sense his precarious hold on himself. The single growlithe he had come across in the halls had whimpered and cowered behind its handler.

"Hey, Smith? Where's Johnson?"

Mewtwo looked up from his computer keyboard. _"Meeting with an IAB shrink,"_ he said. The intern- new, young, smiling- shrugged and gestured at him.

"Then I guess you're the one Dallas wants to see. He wants an update on your current case."

Mewtwo took a deep breath, and nodded. _"I'll be just a second."_

Great. Just what he didn't need.

**End Notes**

So, I imagine you've noticed that the chapters in Chosen Fate are tending towards the _long_ (for me) side. This one was what, nine and a half pages or so? Can't remember, oddly enough. But anyways. Everyone go read and review WiseAbsol's work, she's a great gal, one of my friends, and if you DON'T you're missing out, big time. Also check out Dark Magician Girl Aeris's work, she played the slime-bucket Dr. Sullivan. CalliopeMused gets some kudos again for her continued role as Sheryl Lance, and her newest roll, Benjamine McClure.

Coming up in the next chapter, Captain Dallas- you all remember him, he's a dirty cop- tries to verbally out manuever Mewtwo. But when your opponant can read your mind and knows what you're going to do before you do, just how much of a chance do you have?


	5. Put our Souls at Ease

Put our Souls at Ease

Tuesday, August 4, 10:13 A.M

Captain Dallas had a corner office with a view. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the floor covered in a rich crimson carpet. The chairs were leather, designed for comfort. The desk was large, uncluttered save for a picture of the man's family in a discreet silver frame, and the only decorations in the room were medals, framed and hung on the walls.

Mewtwo agreed with Brenda. The man was a disgrace to his family and to cops everywhere.

Captain Jacob Dallas was dirty. He had been taking money from Giovanni Rocketto; he continued to accept bribes from the larger Team Rocket fractions.

It was infuriating, standing in front of that man, giving a report, knowing that unless something drastic was done, Dallas would continue as he was, fattening on the betrayal of honest cops.

Mewtwo just managed to keep a sardonic smile from affecting his illusion. How the mighty had fallen. He cared about the badge, about what it stood for, never mind how he'd gotten it.

"Well? Have you got any leads?" Dallas leaned back in his chair, looking out one of the windows. Not at Mewtwo, and that rankled. Surely the man could pretend to some interest.

"_Several tentative ones. The victims have no ID, no address, their fingerprints are not on file. The coroner believes that they were heavily experimented on before death."_

"You're going to have to talk to reporters," Dallas said. "It's a story, and if we lock them out they'll just get nasty."

Mewtwo took a deep breath, and tilted his head the slightest bit. _"At the moment, we don't have any information to give, that won't compromise our investigation. The media will just have to wait."_

"Now, see here," Dallas said, finally looking over. "Our reputation is on the line. If you and Johnson keep dragging your heels on this-"

"_If you had read the report, _sir_, you would note that we are working very hard. There is a lack of suspects, due to the anonymous nature of the victims. We need to find out where the victims are from before we can discern why someone would want them dead. With your permission, I'd like to get back to doing just that."_ Mewtwo narrowed his eyes. He was one of the most powerful psychics in existence. It would be pitifully easy to make the man's death appear of natural causes.

Of course, that would mean touching Dallas's mind. It was probably the mental equivalent of the dump. He'd exhaust all of the other options before manipulating Dallas's health.

"Fine." Dallas frowned. "But you'll have to talk to the media soon enough. Find something you can give them."

Mewtwo nodded, and left the room. The sight of Brenda leaning up against the opposite wall did nothing for his barely controlled temper.

"Did you pull the God of Doom voice on him?" she asked, startling a smile from him. "Well?"

"_No, Detective, I did not."_

"Damn. I was hoping… Well, let's go. Things to do and all that. Give me what Hades gave you." Brenda punched the elevator call button, and arched her eyebrows.

He shook his head. _"Later."_

"That good, huh?"

"_If you call inciting homicide 'good', yes."_

Mewtwo stepped into the elevator, and folded his arms. The moment the doors were closed, he turned to his partner.

"_Dr. McClure thinks the girls are clones."_

Brenda chewed on her lip. "We sort of figured that already, didn't we? Or did you make me read that paper on cloning for kicks? Because if you did, I'll have to hurt you."

"_No. Maybe I was trying to deceive myself."_

"You really don't like clones, do you?" she asked. "If you don't grow up, I'll throw you at Sheryl and let her deal with the phobia."

Phobia? Mewtwo reached out and brushed against Brenda's mind. He nearly choked in his shock. She thought- she thought he hated clones. The idea that he might be a clone himself had never occurred to her. The idea that he pitied the girls and despised their creators was there, overlaid with her worry that his hate- a hate he did not have- for the girls would skew his part of the investigation.

"_Detective, I promise I have no problems with clones. It's the idea behind them I have issues with."_

"Only the gods should play at being God," she agreed. "Well, let's get cracking then."

Tuesday, August 4, 12:00 P.M.

Brenda shoved away from her desk, and started pacing. It amounted to taking two steps forward, turning, and taking three steps back to her chair. Patterns. A good detective noticed patterns. When you'd submersed yourself in a sea of names and doctorates, you stopped thinking, and started noticing.

Dekker, Michael. Taylor, Elizabeth. Mallory, James. Thompson, Gwen. There were others, but those were four names that continued to show up. Dekker was in Silph. So were Thompson and Taylor. Mallory was an independent researcher, cited many of Helix's techniques with whatever the hell they did, and had been married to Thompson.

None of it was a crime, in itself. But it was a pattern. Dekker specialized in something to do with the brain and hormones and- and she didn't know _what_, exactly, but it involved long words worse then any Morin clan name. Taylor studied 'natural clones', and had written a few dozen proposals over the years, asking for human cloning to be given the green light. Mallory- whatever he did, it was complicated and trying to understand it gave her a headache. Thompson was the same, only it was in a different field, Brenda was sure, since it used different words.

Patterns. Four people, who she thought could probably be the brains behind human experimentation. They were smart, probably smarter then anyone had the right to be. If she had a guess, they were emotionally stunted. Geniuses generally were.

"Smith," she said, and stopped pacing. "I think we might have some suspects."

Mewtwo looked up. _"You get to deal with Dr. McClure this time."_

"Fine." She frowned. "What's his number?"

She ended up having to leave a message on his machine. Sort, pithy, to the point. "Call me ASAP and use real words." Not even Hades could screw that up.

"Let's take an hour, come back fresh," she suggested, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Headaches sucked.

"_Fine. Where are we going?"_ Mewtwo stood up, and made a sweeping gesture at the door.

Brenda grunted. "Out. I need to clear my head."

Even when they got out of the building, Brenda kept quiet. She was aware that Mewtwo kept looking at her, but she was busy. Thinking, planning, turning the case over in her mind despite saying she needed to let it rest.

Almost on automatic, she turned and started walking towards Viridian forest. It'd be a hike, as it was on the other side of town, but it'd be quiet. And, better, private.

Cloning. They were dealing with honest to Gods cloning. The stuff of science fiction. She was in a bad sci-fi movie now. What next- a clone of herself? A clone of Mewtwo, programmed to take her partner out, infiltrate her investigation, and then kill her?

Brenda eyed Mewtwo for a second, and then snorted. No, that just wasn't going to happen. Clones… Okay, she could believe in clones. Like Mewtwo had said, they were just identical twins gone weird. And the fact that her victims were, in essence, identical… Well, she'd heard about investigations into murdered twins. As long as she didn't dwell on the clone thing, she didn't feel half as weirded out.

But she wasn't going to be cloned, because this was real life and that just didn't happen. And Mewtwo wasn't going to be cloned, because again, that sort of thing just didn't happen in real life.

She took a deep breath, and felt something settle inside her. She hadn't known she'd been worrying about stupid things like that, but then, she didn't know half of what she thought. Islanders were highly instinctive, more then the _Haukea_, non-Islanders, were. Trying to mingle instinct and cop-trained thought was difficult.

Maybe if she'd been adopted by an Islander, or had spent most of her life in a Temple, as was proper for an orphan, she wouldn't have this trouble. Other Islanders seemed able to balance all the parts of their lives.

She wished she could.

"This is getting me nowhere," she muttered, and shook her head. If she continued on with this maudlin nonsense, she wouldn't be good for anything. Focus. That was what she needed.

Focus, and to pay attention to the case.

"_What is getting you nowhere?"_ Mewtwo asked, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up, and frowned. _"Unless you actually have a destination in mind?"_

"Not really," she admitted. "Just… Somewhere we won't be overheard."

Mewtwo looked up at the building roofs, and then back down. She felt herself tense. The vast majority of the buildings had flat roofs. Most of them were also at least three stories tall.

"If you can find a way for us to get up, sure," she said, and ignored how her stomach started to squirm.

He led them into an alley, and then, the bastard teleported them up onto a roof. Brenda felt the blood rush from her head, and sat down.

"I hate teleporting."

"_You don't look well. Take a minute."_

She shook her head, and sneered. "Do we have a minute?"

Mewtwo's eyes were grave. _"Several."_

"Right, right." It wasn't so bad, sitting down. You couldn't see anything, really, just a dull, blue sky with way too many clouds scuttling across. A few other buildings, sky scrapers, but those were tall no matter where you stood or how high you were.

"You have a problem with clones."

"_Pardon?"_

Brenda gestured with one hand. Why did she always end up in these sorts of conversations? If she didn't know what she was going to say, why the hell did she open her mouth? "You have a problem with clones. And whether you mean to or not, it'll effect the investigation."

Mewtwo dropped his illusion. She couldn't read the expression on his face, but it wasn't a happy one. It wasn't an angry one either. _"Detective, what am I?"_

"A mutant persian with a bad dye job," she said, and then blushed. "Sorry. You're not… I wasn't thinking." Because insulting your partner was a great idea.

"_I don't mind."_

"You should."

"_Well, I don't. Think, this time, and then answer the question."_

Brenda shook her head, and decided it was time to really look at Mewtwo. As if she had to describe him to a police artist later.

Tall, about six-foot-six, and around three hundred pounds if she had a guess. He stood on two legs, he had two arms, a tail, two eyes, two ears, a nose and mouth… Humanoid, though just enough to emphasize how inhuman he looked. Hell, he had _an extra neck_, you didn't see that every day.

His muzzle was short, but not squished looking- like someone had taken a human nose, shoved the mouth and jaw forward, and tilted the nose so that it looked like a meowth's, or growlithe's. His ears were on top of his head, and seemed pretty fixed in position. His eyes were purple, a color humans could only get through contact lenses or some special laser surgery. His fur was short, a bit longer on the back of his head, on his necks, and on his shoulders, but not that much longer. Mostly he was pale gray, except his abdomen and tail, which were a purple just a shade darker then his eyes were.

"I give up," she said, and scowled. So much for that idea… Now she wasn't going to stop noticing his appearance. She'd done such a good job ignoring it up to now.

She needed to talk to Sheryl about this. Maybe there was a way to go back to not caring.

"_Have you ever seen a natural pokemon like me?"_ he asked, voice quiet and eyes sad.

"No. Well, you do look a little like a persian. Same… catty features?"

"_But you would say I'm unique."_

"Oh, don't tell me you're a science experiment!" she said, standing up. She took five steps forward, and poked one finger against his chest. She felt bone, a freaking plate of it, and scowled.

He looked down at her. _"And if I am?"_

It was a leap, but a small one. "Are you a clone?"

"_Yes."_

Well. Shit. Just what did you say to that?

Tuesday, August 4, 12:45 P.M.

Mewtwo very nearly held his breath. Brenda was just staring at him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo. Short of actually reaching out and brushing her mind, he couldn't figure out her thoughts. She looked surprised, but that was quickly changing to something less readable.

"You're a clone?" she asked, quietly. Confused, as if she didn't quite understand what he was saying.

He didn't want to lie to her, not about this. She would have figured it out anyways. He was just making sure she had all the required information.

"_Yes. I was created from a fossil. Mew's DNA, most of it, was extracted, and used to create me. There was some… alterations."_ He lifted one hand, and regarded it. She turned to look as well, but almost immediately looked back up at his face.

"Islanders know of Mew," she said, and shook her head. "You're better."

That was… different. _"Why?"_

"You're not a trickster. At least, you don't seem to be." Now she looked worried, and took a step back. "Are you?"

He shook his head, and nearly chuckled. Him, playing pranks? He had no real sense of humor to speak of. His amusement died as quickly as it had flared. _"Are you bothered?"_

"By what?"

"_By what I am."_

Next thing he knew, she punched him in the jaw.

And sprang back, clutching her hand and cursing.

Mewtwo rubbed the side of his face, surprised and at the same time, resigned. Well, that answered that question. She must have put all her strength into that blow, for his cheek to ache like that. A little more to the left and he might have ended up with a split lip.

"Fucking asshole!" she spat, presumably about him and not the pain in her hand. "What the _hell_- how you ended up so fucking _screwed in the head_ I don't know! Moron! Is your head empty? Goddamn it."

She took a deep breath, and straightened up, flexing her sore fingers. Mewtwo nearly took a step back at the expression on her face. Fury- he had never seen her so angry before, not even when- when she had been dealing with the rapist, and his foolishness.

"If you think, for even one minute, that I give so much as a damn about where the hell you come from… Well, okay, yes, I do care- that you don't come from Bumfuck, Middle of Nowhere, but other then that- whatever! Did you somehow _change_ after telling me? No? Didn't think so!" She glared, teeth bared- and managing to look completely ridiculous. Humans weren't meant to look like that; their faces wrinkled up and they looked nothing so much as little children throwing a tantrum.

"_It's not that,"_ he said, trying to forestall the rant. Or stop it entirely. If she yelled any louder, people would be curious as to where the noise was coming from. _"It's only that- it really doesn't bother you?"_

"You have issues," Brenda pronounced, and rolled her eyes. "Lots of them. Only thing that's changed is… Well, nothing really. You're a clone. Good for you. If we're done, can we go back to work now?"

He couldn't help but smile. _"Thank you."_

**End Notes**

No, I'm not dead. Thought I'd toss that out before you all turn into a lynch mob... Or something. But yes. I live. And so does Chosen Fate. Yay for getting stalled on the original story- fight scenes suck- and yay for sitting down and writing this freaking chapter... Sugar does WONDERS, y'know that? Anyways. Next chapter, no idea, it'll show up sooner or later. I have a time line. Reporters are next!


	6. Attempt to Fight Disease

Attempt to Fight Disease

Wednesday, August 5, 9:45 A.M.

One of Giovanni's scientists slid a needle into Mewtwo's second neck. "Don't move," the man ordered, taping the glass and metal torture device down. He then picked up another, and slid it in, further up the neck. There were five needles in all, all managing to press on a nerve or against a tendon. One grated against cartilage.

It was a dream. Nightmare. Mewtwo knew that, but he couldn't do anything about it. Of course he couldn't. In life, he would have been tied down on a metal table, forced into compliance through suppression of his psychic abilities, and the human's brute strength. He wasn't tied down- he was sitting up- but wasn't it essentially the same thing? He couldn't break free.

"That looks painful," a little girl commented. Mewtwo looked over, careful not to turn his head. From experience, he knew that to move would jostle the needles, scraping their tips against whatever was in their path.

It typically ended in his fainting.

"_It is,"_ he said.

The girl nodded, and hopped up onto the examination table next to him. "Why do they do that?" she asked, raising one deathly pale hand to point at the needles. "If it hurts. Don't they care?"

The bruises on her neck were dark, nearly black against the rest of her skin. Her hair was light, fluffing out like bird down around her head and shoulders.

She was dead.

"_They don't care,"_ he told her. His spine was starting to tingle, little pin pricks racing up and down his necks and back. _"They only care about getting their information."_

"Yes," the second girl agreed. Just as pale as the first, neck mottled with bruising. She jumped up onto the table, taking place at Mewtwo's other side. "They don't care about us. No one does."

"_Brenda does. She cares."_

"She cares about the dead," the first girl said, and shrugged. The second girl echoed the shrug.

"It's nice, having someone looking out for us. But it didn't save us, did it?"

"It won't save any of us," the first girl said. She looked up at Mewtwo, her face grave. "And it won't save you."

"_What?"_ he asked, daring to move, to lean away from the girls. The needles twisted in his neck, dragging along ragged nerve endings. Bursts of light flashed in front of his eyes in reaction, and he could hear a ringing sound. He gasped, and fell back.

Onto the table. The girls were gone. The needles were gone. He was- he was-

He was in the morgue. On the table. His chest was sliced open in a neat Y-cut, and Dr. McClure was carefully removing the two plates of bone that protected his chest.

"You see?" the doctor was saying, turning towards someone Mewtwo couldn't see. "It would have been very painless. In his sleep, no doubt. His heart just couldn't take the stress."

Mewtwo's eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright in bed. With one hand he felt his chest, reassured to find it whole and unblemished. He touched his second neck with the other, barely brushing the fur. Even that simple act made him shiver and wince.

He didn't need a psychology textbook to interpret that dream. Now all he had to do was decide what to do about it.

And, he supposed, make an appointment with Melanie. He doubted he had any genetic disorders, but there was so much about him that was… Well. It couldn't hurt to be certain.

Wednesday, August 5, 10:13 A.M.

She supposed she wasn't happy. Granted, she was going to talk to Hades in his den, without Mewtwo to translate. What, should she be skipping along the sidewalk in anticipation?

Brenda quietly vowed to herself that, if she ever did skip down the sidewalk for any reason, she'd take her gun and blow her own brains out. Islanders, particularly her brand of Islander, didn't _skip_. Especially not when they were going to talk to the psycho coroner without backup.

Still, she mused. She shouldn't have been sulking just because she wanted to chat with Dr. McClure. Sure, the man was annoying, but if she threatened to punch him, he'd probably shut up. Threaten his movie posters, and he'd probably beg her not to touch them. Geeks were predictable.

She quickened her steps, and growled. Dr. Ben McClure was on the building's steps, clutching a pop can and briefcase like lifelines. A second man, dressed in a cheap suit, holding a notepad and pen, was leaning towards the good Dr. Dead. Figured. Hades himself, out of his lair. And… Well, well, looked like a reporter to her.

This had the potential to be very fun.

Brenda arched her eyebrows, sauntering up to the lab steps. "This guy harassing you?" she asked, nodding to the reporter in question. She kept her eyes on Ben's face. There'd be a proper time to give the media liaison her full attention.

And send him running for the hills.

Ben looked relieved to see the police officer, for the first time since the start of the investigation. "I'm sure he was just about to leave, Detective Johnson. I told him twice that I was unauthorized to speak about the case."

"Detective Johnson?" The reporter managed to look curious, worried, and smarmy, all at once. Brenda could only assume that her reputation had spread to whatever rock he'd crawled out from under. "Kevin Novik, of the Viridian Times. What do you have to say about this recent rash of murders?"

"A rash of murders," Ben repeated incredulously. "A rash, Mr. Novik, is usually the sign of a skin irritation."

"Perhaps you'd like to fill Mr. Novik in on the difference between skin irritations and murder," Brenda said, doing her best to make her voice silky smooth. She ended up growling anyways, but she gave herself points for trying.

Ben frowned. "I think he knows the difference between a minor medical issue and a homicide, detective. I can't imagine the Viridian Times sending someone unclear on the concept to find information about a murder."

Novik spoke up, and edged just a little bit closer to the doctor. The cop was looking like a persian with a tasty pidgey in sight. "Detective, what do you have to say about the death of these children, then?"

Brenda favored him with a bland look. "It stinks, and we're going to catch the culprit and put him in jail for the rest of his life. Or hers," she added, considering. "Though typically women go for poison. Dr. McClure, I'd like to talk to you inside."

Of course, at that point, the reporter had edged between the two of them and the door.

"If you would like to join us, Mr. Novik, you will need an identification patch from the police department," Ben said apologetically. "Perhaps you could get authorization from the chief of police? Most people can't get access to the lab unless they're directly related to any of our ongoing cases."

"I think Mr. Novik is interested in some of your procedures, Doctor," Brenda put in, before the hapless reporter could speak. "Like that- zyphy thing, the one that looks like a sword." She smirked at the confused look Novik shot her.

"The xiphoid isn't a process, detective. It's the bone directly inferior to the sternum," Ben said hesitantly. He didn't want to be rude to her with the reporter listening in, but he felt it was important to have facts straightened out quickly.

"Right, the thing that looks like a sword." This was fun. She had to throw Hades at the reporters some more. Maybe they'd run away screaming. The gods only knew she wanted to. "I think you should explain it, in detail, if you don't mind. I'll just be inside, come along when you're done." She sauntered up to the reporter, pushed him aside, and let herself in.

Then she waited.

Ben didn't want to talk to the reporter. He wanted to get back to his lab, where there were no dazed men clutching notepads. "Mr. Novik. I suggest you file information requests through the appropriate channels. Even if I was authorized to speak on any of the cases currently being investigated, I do not believe you would understand the facts that I study." Ben turned on his heel and stepped inside, and waited until the door closed to comment. "I hate being rude," he told Brenda in an undertone, "but he wasn't going to leave, otherwise."

"I could have thrown him down the stairs," she pointed out. "This was just more fun. Thanks for the help, Hades. Now, I think we have a case to talk about?"

He smiled. "We do. I don't know how much farther I can investigate without straying from details pertinent to the case, but I do have quite a bit of information."

Brenda shoved open the stairwell door. "Then let's get started. English, unless you want me to feed your posters to the shredder."

Ben looked pained. "I'm a coroner, detective, I wasn't trained in colloquial names."

"What?"

"The common names for various muscles, bones, and conditions," Ben said. This could be harder than he thought. "The instructors assumed that coroners would have little to no interaction with patients, so we had no special training on explaining our findings in conversational English."

She growled, and glowered in his direction. "Well, I guess you're just going to have to figure it out, won't you? What more do you need- leg, knee, arm, elbow, chest, shoulders, head- all colloquial names!"

"I need to be more specific than that, detective," Ben protested. "Have you ever read a full coroner's report? There is a legal standard to the level of detail necessary for a conviction based on forensic evidence from the autopsy."

"Great. Your reports can be full of all the specifics you want. I, on the other hand, want something I can actually use. Got it?"

"Use for what purpose?"

"Catching the bad guy, Hades. It's what I do." Brenda gestured at the morgue door. "Is it locked?"

"It always is, when I'm not in." He tapped his ID card at the side of the door. After the lock clicked, he pulled the door open. "After you, detective."

She grunted, and strode into the morgue. It was a few degrees cooler then she preferred, but with the dead bodies, what could you do? "Smith says you think the girls are clones." It also happened to have freaked Mewtwo out. At least now she knew why- and if he started whining about being a clone himself, she'd just have to hit him again. Fuckwit.

"I can't think of an alternate explanation, detective. Their DNA sequences are too similar, and their looks are... well, they all look identical in casual examination. It took me some time to be able to find slight individual differences."

"Goodie," she muttered. "Fine. Smith said you can put your college slaves on looking up people and information?"

"My..." Ben shook his head. "I can put the interns to work as soon as I have details. Would you prefer to discuss the case in my office?"

"Is there a chair?" Brenda pressed her thumb against her bad leg. "Otherwise, no."

"Two chairs." Ben flicked on the lights in his office. "The lab supervisor was in just before I went to lunch. She communicates directly with the chief of police."

"Good for her." Brenda sank down into the closest chair, and stretched out her bad leg. Hades could probably tell she had trouble with the knee, but hopefully he'd be smart enough not to mention it. "So. Your college slaves? I have names for them."

"Names for them to research, or new names with which to refer to them?"

"Well, you could always call your slaves 'idiot one' and 'idiot two', if you wanted," Brenda said, as dry as Hoenn's desert. "But I meant research."

"My interns," Ben stressed, "will be happy to have a job. I've kept them busy with the autoclave, so far."

"Dekker, Michael. Taylor, Elizabeth. Mallory, James. Thompson, Gwen," Brenda recited.

Ben pulled a pad of paper from the top drawer of his desk. "Do you might writing them down for me? I'll start them off with the spellings you know, then work in a few alternates."

"Fine." Brenda grabbed a pen off of Hades' desk, and started scribbling down the names. "That's how I saw them written," she grumbled. "Research papers, mostly."

"Perfect," Ben said. "I've been looking for an excuse to get them into old medical journals. I can have the interns look up more than you'd ever want to know about their professional lives. Will the police look into personal details?"

"Probably, but if your interns find out anything interesting, I wouldn't mind getting that as well." Brenda shrugged. "I know either Taylor or Thompson was married to either of the men, I just can't remember who to who."

"They should find the basics," Ben agreed. "Is that all you wanted to discuss today?"

"No, but I've forgotten what I'm here for," she admitted. "The reporter distracted me."

"You can take your time. I don't know what else I can investigate, at the moment, so I would just be finalizing my reports."

After a moment, Brenda spoke up. "What's the possibility of other clones running around?"

"It is pure speculation, but... I think that it is very likely."

She closed her eyes. "You said that our two were already sick. Would the other clones be sick?"

"Unless the scientists found some method of correcting their methods, yes."

She nodded, and opened her eyes again. "I guess I'd better have people checking the parks. I'll get out of your hair. Next time you see a reporter, you have my permission to give them complete and exacting information on how best to compare DNA samples."

"You would like me to use excessively medical language with them, while sharing information that has no real connection to the case," Ben clarified.

"Exactly. I'm sure they'll enjoy the experience. Or leave you alone after a day."

Ben hesitated. "Did I say something to offend your partner, detective? He seemed very upset."

"Smith?" Brenda hesitated. It wasn't her secret to tell, but... "Smith's had a bad childhood. His parents were scientists. They didn't have any morals." She glowered at the Star Wars poster. "Any scientific experimentation makes him twitchy."

"Perhaps he'll like the angle that I have suggested to my supervisor, then," Ben said. "I am confident that the scientists responsible for these girls can be prosecuted for the most severe violations of research ethics. This is punishable by jail time, and a permanent ejection from the research community."

"And if we can hook them on murder, too, they'll be in for life." Brenda smirked, and stood up. "I think I'll go give him the good news."

"If you must throw reporters, could you make sure they land beyond the lab's property?" Ben asked. "The custodians are busy enough inside the building."

"Shouldn't be too hard. Bye, Hades. Have fun with your paperwork."

Wednesday, August 5, 10:25 A.M.

Mewtwo leaned back, away from his computer, and pressed the pads of his fingers against his eyes. This wasn't working. He couldn't concentrate. He kept feeling something prick his second neck, as if someone were about to shove a needle in. As if that wasn't bad enough, he kept expecting to look down at his chest and see a gaping wound, not smooth fur over bone.

He should have gone with Brenda to see Dr. McClure. At least that way he would have something to distract himself with. But after that nightmare, the thought of the doctor set his fur on end.

Unfortunately, there wasn't anything to _do_, except research. And at this point, all he was doing was cross referencing names and laboratories. The actual details weren't important, unless a connection stood out.

And apart from several names he thought he recognized, there weren't any connections that he could see.

This wasn't working.

He eyed the coffee machine, perched on the other side of the room. He was now well known for not drinking coffee, at all. There were bets on when he'd have a cup, but that day would not be today.

He could always hack into Peterson's computer and look at the current bets and what the money running on each was- but that wouldn't be an effective use of his time.

Mewtwo looked around the room, and took a deep breath. He was close to panic- not panic, he corrected himself, but extreme unease- and he wasn't getting anywhere in the investigation. Perhaps an hour or so away from the case would help.

Or perhaps he would be able to shake the remnants of the nightmare from his mind. That could only be to the good, in the end. He shut down his computer, and headed for the elevators.

"Where're you going?" Carmichael asked, looking up from his desk.

"_Out,"_ he said, and hesitated. _"It's personal- related to the case, but not solid. Would you let the Detective know?"_

"Your funeral," Carmichael said. "But sure. Good luck."

"_Thank you."_

The elevator was empty. Mewtwo didn't waste any time, just teleported to an alley near the hospital. Melanie was probably working. If not, he could check her apartment.

He entered through the clinic, and nearly staggered. Entering the building was almost physically painful, the clamor of distressed minds overriding his shields. He built them up, almost three times their normal thickness, and relaxed in the safety of his own mind.

Or- not safety. The ghosts of Rocket scientists whispered over his second neck and shoulders, and he almost flinched. At least his mind was private.

Melanie was working, he noted, seeing a patient into one of the clinic examination rooms. She glanced around the room, and he allowed her to see him without his illusion, for no more then a second.

It was enough. She shot him a startled glance, frowned, and shook her head. He took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, and waited.

Not ten minutes later, she was back. She spoke with the receptionist, who looked up.

"Officer Smith?" she called.

"_Yes?"_ he asked, and stood up. The few scattered people in the waiting room looked mildly resentful, though one or two managed to look guilty at the same time.

"Dr. Copeland can see you now," the receptionist said.

"_Thank you."_ He walked towards the examination room Melanie had disappeared into. Behind him, the clinic continued on; another doctor came out, ready to take another patient.

"_Dr. Copeland? Thank you for seeing me."_ Mewtwo shut the door behind him, and let his illusion fall, completely. _"Especially on such short notice."_

Melanie tried to not look too worried. "I tend to see you and Brenda when someone is badly injured. Are you alright?" His illusion had been perfect, and she hadn't seen any signs of injury as they entered

_"I have been thinking. I am well enough now,_" he assured, _"but that may not always be the case. The Detective is a human and you know what is normal for a human. For me... That would be a difficult matter. I hope I'm not presuming, but you already know about me."_

"I don't know much at all," Melanie admitted. "Would you like to sit down?" She gestured to the chair usually reserved for the doctor, a backless chair on wheels. "I'd be closer to your eye level if I hopped up on the table for this one."

He nodded, and perched awkwardly on the seat. _"I am not well with doctors,"_ he admitted. _"And... Please. Do not touch my second neck."_

Melanie nodded. "Done. Your second neck is... extra blood supply to the brain, I would guess? I can get a pulse from other points, very easily."

_"That is correct,"_ he said, and tried to relax. She had said she wouldn't touch his neck. _"Ah, I think you should also take blood samples, and have it tested. My... unique... origin might adversely effect my health."_ He wrapped his tail around his feet, and clenched his fists. Unique. That was one word for it.

"You seem very healthy to me, but I think you could use a full physical," Melanie said slowly. "If it is convenient for you, I would like to make a few house calls as well. You'd probably be more comfortable away from the hospital, and I don't need any equipment besides a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. I would like to get an idea about your usual blood pressure, pulse, and temperature ranges."

He nodded, and ducked his head. _"Perhaps at the Detective's house. My apartment is in- well, Brenda calls it 'the Shades'."_

"Not my kind of neighborhood," Melanie agreed. "Maybe I could have a shot at giving Brenda half a physical, if we met at her place."

_"Or she could try to have Rhonwen eat you."_

"I can be sneaky. If I do it right, she won't know that I'm giving her a physical. Some of the points doctors check are simple," Melanie said. "I'm not sure what to do for your physical, to be honest. I know that your bones are much stronger than mine are, but the basic structure and composition is conserved. A good portion of a physical exam checks the cranial nerves--nerves connected directly to the brain."

He flinched back. _"I- sorry."_

Melanie closed her eyes for a second, and tried to curse at herself very quietly. With that accomplished, she met his eyes. "No, I am sorry. I should have phrased that more carefully. I am not entirely sure that I can do this well, because doctors are pretty narrow-minded." This would just take a little more effort, then. "I should be able to muddle through an examination fairly well."

He shook his head. _"Do what you need to do,"_ he said. _"I'll be alright."_

Melanie crossed her arms. "I'm not doing a thing while you're in the mindset. The only reason I treated a martyr last time was because of the bullet embedded in your shoulder."

He shot her a disgusted look. _"The Detective did point out how, ah, 'moronic' I had been,"_ he said. _"And I'm _fine_."_

"I don't want to make you feel even more uncomfortable about doctors and hospitals. I'm a bit at a loss because the physical exam has a lot to do with the nervous system, and I can tell with one look that your nervous system is advanced. Increased blood supply, specialized surface anatomy... I'll do my best."

Mewtwo scrubbed his hands over his face, and sighed. _"I do trust you,"_ he admitted. _"It is only- I will be fine, so long as you do not touch my second neck. It is overly sensitive."_

"That would be more cranial nerves," Melanie said, one suspicion confirmed. "Would you say that you're stronger than most people?"

He favored her with a look he'd picked up from Brenda. It was bland, as such looks went, but it still spoke volumes. _"Of course."_

Melanie grinned, unaffected. "I'm just getting an idea of things, that's all. Mind if I break out the stethoscope? I'm predicting a very impressive blood supply, if you have an extra set of vessels to the brain and increased strength."

_"Fine."_ The fur along his neck and shoulders bristled, but he managed to keep his tail still, instead of it swinging around and knocking a hole in the wall.

Melanie took her time, and kept her touch gentle. "Doctors don't just listen to the heart," she explained as she positioned the stethoscope's end about an inch from the center of his chest. "This position, here, lets me hear one of the four valves. Deep breath, please."

Mewtwo sucked in a breath, and thought of something. _"The bones won't get in the way?"_ he asked.

"I'm putting the end between the first and second ribs, for this valve," she said. "There are four, total, that the heart uses when pumping blood. I could tell you all the details, but we'd be here for ages." She moved the stethoscope to the right. "Another breath, please."

He took another breath, but tapped his chest plate. _"I meant the bone up here. It doesn't alter the sound?"_

"It's completely solid," Melanie said. "The sound carries through it nicely." She moved the stethoscope down. "From what I've heard, your heart is just what I'd expect. It's louder than mine, but sounds along the lines of an athlete in top condition."

_"Because I want to be compared to an idiotic human paid absurd amounts of money."_

She moved the stethoscope a last time. "For this? Definitely. I can run a cholesterol test, to be sure, but I don't foresee any heart problems." She set the stethoscope on the counter. "Your heart sounds perfect. Have you ever had issues with your lungs?"

_"Outside of being hit in the ribs? No."_ He'd only ever been hit the once, by those dragons._ "And I've never caught a cold or the flu, before you ask."_

"I'll take those as signs of excellent respiratory and immune function, then," she said. "Have you always healed rapidly?"

_"I couldn't say,"_ he admitted. _"I'm rarely injured."_

"I'll answer my own question, then. You have very dense muscle tissue, and healed key muscles for upper limb mobility within days. May I check your pulse? I can use your wrist, for that."

_"Alright."_ He held up one hand, and tilted his head. _"This is normal? For a physical exam?"_

"For a low-technology version, yes," Melanie said. "I've been going in a different order, and omitting most tests of the nervous system."

_"You will have to do a complete exam,"_ he pointed out. His fur, which had relaxed, stood on end again.

"In time," Melanie said. "I usually save the sillier tests for the end."

He arched one eyebrow, and moved his tail around to the side. If he didn't manage to relax, and soon, his tail would cramp up. _"What sort of tests?"_

"Cranial nerves nine and twelve, as well as the Golgi tendon organ reflex of the patellar ligament," she answered promptly.

_"The- what?"_ Mewtwo almost recoiled in confusion. He had read medical textbooks, but obviously none of it had stayed with him. Just what was the Golgi tendon organ reflex of the- he couldn't even remember the whole thing.

Melanie picked up a small object from the counter. It looked like a very small hammer, made out of rubber. "I tap the tendon just below your knee with this hammer, and then watch to see if your leg kicks out. It tests nerve function within your spinal cord."

_"You want to see if I can kick?"_ Mewtwo asked, and then looked down at his legs in something approaching disbelief. _"I'm not even sure I can. At least, not as humans do."_

"That's part of the reason I'm not giving a full exam," she said. "My knees are backwards, compared to yours. I'm improvising as best I can, but some details just don't translate."

_"Shouldn't it be my knees are backwards?"_ he asked, and then shrugged. His 'knees' were actually his ankles- but that was specifics. Being hit with a hammer anywhere on his legs was hardly a frightening prospect. _"Do you have anything more to check?"_

"It doesn't matter one way or the other, does it? You will be very aware of any difficulties with your nervous system, I believe, so I'll focus on things that aren't so conscious. May I try to get a pulse at your wrist?"

He gestured with his upheld hand, and decided nothing more need be said, save an ironic look. He had been holding it up the entire time, after all.

Melanie blushed, and touched two fingers just beside his hand. She kept her eyes on her watch as she counted the pulse for ten seconds. "An even fifty," she said. "That's a very healthy rate."

_"Good to know."_ He frowned a little, and then smirked. _"How are you going to examine the Detective without her noticing? Examinations apparently involve a lot of touching."_

"If she happens to roll her eyes at me, I know the oculomotor nerve is working."

_"She rolls her eyes a lot."_

"The two of you are going to be my most interesting patients, I can see that right now. Did you know that Brenda terrified half the staff here, with her one visit?"

Mewtwo shrugged. _"I did notice, yes."_

She sat back on the exam table. "I don't think a full physical exam would do either of us much good. Your heart, lungs, and immune system are perfect, you heal well, and you don't have any physical complaints. Perhaps you can clarify why you waned to come see me today." She would like to get a blood sample and a normal temperature, but those could both wait another few minutes.

_"How foolish would you think me if I told you I'm here due to a nightmare?"_ he asked. At least he wasn't speaking with Brenda.

"I thought it would be some specific wake-up call," Melanie said. "I have tried to do my homework, about what treatment you would need, but there isn't much literature. I think that you'll only need me for acute care."

And there went any remaining tension. Obviously, he had been spending far too much time around the extremely volatile Detective. _"Quite effective,"_ he agreed. _"And I'd much rather not need your aid at all, but I am well aware that I'm not invulnerable."_ He lifted one hand to his second neck, but didn't touch. His wince, hopefully, said it all.

"I don't have the right equipment this time, but I would like to get a temperature," Melanie said. The room's thermometer took a reading from the ear, which seemed impractical. "Today, I'll be set with a blood sample. I won't submit your name with the sample, and I'll save everything for a senior technician."

_"One that you can intimidate, I take it?"_ He smirked, and held out his hand again. _"Help yourself."_

She jumped off the exam bed lightly and glanced at his arm. "You have excellent veins," she complimented as she took out a blood draw kit. Melanie took no chances. She disinfected with iodine, used the rubber tourniquet to trap blood in the desired vein, and took her time inserting the needle.

Melanie bit her lip harshly. His entire arm was trembling, and she had just inserted the small needle attached to a short length of tubing. She didn't look away from her work, but imagined that the shaking wasn't just confined to his arm. At least the two small vials would fill themselves, when attached to the tube. She set the vials of blood on the counter, withdrew the needle, and deliberately turned her back to dispose of it in the sharps container. She would give him a moment, after that. She would give all the moments he wanted.

Mewtwo pressed his hand against his elbow, and focused on his breathing. It hadn't been that bad. Nothing had broken, his arm didn't hurt. It had been over quickly. He was fine. Just _fine_. _"I think I have a paranoia,"_ he said. At least a telepathic voice couldn't waver and crack.

"I've had dozens of patients with the same reaction," she said as she untied the tourniquet. "About a third faint the instant they see either the needle or their blood. I don't imagine needing another sample any time soon."

_"Good to know."_ There were, of course, always drugs in case she did need more blood- but he was highly reluctant to go that route. As long as it was infrequent, he would likely have little trouble. _"Is there anything else? Or should I let you go back to your other patients?"_

"You _are_ one of my patients, Mewtwo," she said firmly. "This is all that I need for today. Do you have any other questions?"

_"No, not at the moment. Perhaps at a later date. And I'll see if the Detective will extend an invitation to your house, if you like."_

Melanie held out her hand. "If you can convince her to let me check on that leg, you'll be my hero," she wheedled. "I know that I can't do much, but I've looked into a few stretches that might help her."

Mewtwo smirked, and took the doctor's hand. _"I make no promises, but I'm sure that if you get in the door, you'll work wonders. Or I could just mention it to her family."_

He stood up, and nearly winced as tense muscles stretched and relaxed. Uncomfortable as it was, at least this examination had done one thing. It had sufficiently distracted him.

"_Good day, doctor,"_ he said, and then left before he could further embarrass himself.

**End Notes**

Are your eyes burning yet? Long chapter, huh? (Either twelve or fourteen pages, I lost count and refuse to check.) Major kudos to CalliopeMused, responsible for Ben, Melanie, and editing. And I know, I know, lots of talking- but that changes next chapter. We're back to the murders, darlin', and man are they messy.


	7. Lethality

Lethality

Thursday, August 6, 11:45 A.M.

"Much as I hate paperwork, in some cases it's useful." Brenda let a stack of notes fall onto her desk. "Some cases." She eyed the stack, and then glared at Mewtwo. "Trees died for this, you know."

"_Recycled paper,"_ he replied, busy with his own stack. _"You're sure about Leanne and John Philbin?"_

"They didn't give me a vibe, but they're connected." Brenda cracked her knuckles, and started looking through the paperwork. Unlike Mewtwo, she actually had to write a little thing called a progress report. If she filled it with enough medical jargon, Dallas probably wouldn't even read it.

Which would be better then explaining they were clawing their way, very slowly, towards finding a suspect, but otherwise hadn't made much progress.

"_We have made progress,"_ Mewtwo said, turning in his seat to look at her. _"We know the girls are clones, and that they were genetically modified. We know it's probably another clone killing our victims, because of the size of the hand and the strength needed to crush the neck. We know that we can arrest the scientists, and that we will."_

"What I know is that we've been putting gods know only how many man-hours into this thing, and we still aren't close to having a suspect to haul into interview."

"_That will come."_

"Optimist."

"_I am not-"_

"Well, you're sure as hell not a realist. Don't worry, the shine will wear off eventually."

She ignored the narrow eyed look he shot at her, and dove into the files. It actually wasn't hard typing up her report. Once that was done, all she had to do was find the best jargon to make Dallas's eyes cross, and then she could send it off.

And print it out, because who trusted the inter-departmental connections, anyways? Only people like Mewtwo, who were, as previously noted, optimists.

Crazies, the lot of them.

She moved the files down beside her desk into a box, and yawned. "Desk work makes me sleepy."

"_Detective, is there a point to that?"_

"Cranky," she muttered. If she didn't get up and start moving, soon, she was going to throw her keyboard at his head. See how he liked that, because damn it. Damn it all to hell.

They had names. They had addresses. What they didn't have was the definitive proof that linked four scientists to a monstrosity. And they didn't have anything to use against those scientists, either, to get them to roll. And roll they would. Intellectual types like them? Squealers. Put a little pressure, mention the best of jail conditions, and they'd spill every damn thing they knew.

She flexed her fingers, and growled. She wanted to get just one of them- she only needed one- into an interview room. Then the fun could begin.

All she needed was enough proof to get a warrant. No point in hoping these psychopaths would grow a conscience and give themselves up. Not when they were this deep. The people on the side, if they knew, they'd probably be shocked and horrified at what they'd been helping along.

The phone rang.

Brenda turned her head and stared at it. Mewtwo looked over. They both looked at each other, and then Brenda picked up the receiver.

"Johnson, Detective," she said, and then went still.

Five minutes later they were in the garage. She'd never run down stairs that fast, ever, and hoped she'd never do so again.

"Going to need a black and white," she muttered, and ran to the rank and file's vehicles. And then skidded to a stop, because _hot damn_, there was a new car in her slot. Some angel of mercy had gotten her a new car.

Gloating had to take a back seat, though, since they were moving. "Three seconds to fix your seat, then we're going," she said, and peeled a bit of tape off the door. Keys. Cute.

Three seconds later, they were going, sirens at full blast. The car muscled through the traffic, the motor a deep, bass growl.

Halfway across town would be the mansions, one of which was owned by- someone, details didn't matter. What Brenda did know was that the mansion they were racing to had four dead bodies.

And one live one.

Thursday, August 6, 12:00 P.M.

Brenda ducked under the police tape, and attached a recorder to her shirt collar. She'd have made Mewtwo do it, but whenever he was in charge of the recorder the record was jumpy. Three cheers for telekinesis and forgetting where the recorder was supposed to be.

"You!" she snapped, and pointed at one of the uniformed officers on-scene. "Tell me what's going on."

The officer snapped to attention, and started walking. They had a distance to go; first to the gate, which was propped open and guarded by two police officers, and then beyond that to the house. The gate and yard had once been a shrine to mirrors and glass, and other shiny things, but not any more. Someone- their suspect, probably- had destroyed every piece of glass, mirror, crystal, and reflective metal in the gates and ornaments.

Brenda made a mental note: their suspect had prodigious strength, probably on par with a fighting-type pokemon.

Mewtwo turned his head and nodded. If she hadn't been busy, she would have kicked him for reading her mind.

"Sir," the officer said. Under a late summer tan, his face was pale, eyes wide and horrified. "I can get you the first on-scene, if you would like."

"Do," she said. "Then tell me what you know."

"Yes, sir." The officer paused just long enough to pull out his radio, and nearly drop it. Mewtwo caught it, and handed it back. The kid smiled- kid was what he was, fresh out of college and probably this was his first brush with death that hadn't been prettied up in a funeral home.

Brenda tuned out the request for the first on-scene, turned to study the house. A lot of windows, a lot of pale gray brick that looked cold, unwelcoming. A fountain at the top of the drive, right in the middle, so a car would have to drive around in order to drop off its passengers.

Fancy, pretty- in a cold, untouchable way. And every ground floor window was shattered.

"Took some time," she muttered.

"Yes, sir," the officer said, and cleared his throat. "Ah, as far as I'm aware, there are three bodies inside the building, one outside to the far rear of the property. The ET's are here, and are prepared to transport the bodies to the medical examiner at your order."

"Pictures?" she asked.

"Two rolls of film for the bodies," the kid replied. "The medical examiner sends his apologies, by the way, but he can't make it over here in time to do an on-site study."

Brenda arched one eyebrow, and looked over at Mewtwo. "Your job to find out why," she said. "If its transport, then a black and white should've picked him up, drove him over. If it's something else, I want to know what's more important then four dead bodies."

Mewtwo nodded, and then looked over. _"I believe this is the first on-scene,"_ he said, and folded his arms.

Brenda was tempted to copy him. Sergeant Meeks was well known in traffic, and word had trickled out to the rest of the department. He was thorough, dotted his i's and crossed his t's, but he was a racist, sexist, moronic bastard.

As a woman, as a woman of color, she wondered how he'd take her.

She saw him glance at her, peg her, saw the sneer he didn't bother hiding. After all, _he_ was the one with the rank. She was just a detective, a woman, black, _he_ was a sergeant, male, and pure white bread.

It was almost amusing how Meeks focused on Mewtwo. Well, her partner did appear to be a white male, and Meeks would be more comfortable dealing with that image then her. Or with reality.

"Sergeant," she said, deciding not to make an issue out of his stupidity. "Detective Johnson, and Officer Smith." She nodded at Mewtwo. "What can you tell us?"

Meeks was shorter then Brenda, had thinning brown hair and a gut. If he cared about his physical disadvantages, he didn't let it show. He paused, just long enough to make a point of his rank, and then focused on Mewtwo as he talked.

She could've had him pinned to the ground, cuffed with his own handcuffs in five seconds, but that wouldn't have gotten anything done. Better to let it pass.

"Well, seems there was a party going to be here tonight. Lady showed up to help start setting up, found a mess. Called us before going in, but didn't stay in the car like she should've. Went into the house, and saw the first body. Two others, and my partner found the fourth. The ones in the house are all male, pretty damn dead. One in the back's a little girl, which is why you got called in."

Brenda looked up at Mewtwo, and could practically read what he was thinking. One, that he would have rather talked to Meeks' partner, and two, that there wasn't any doubt that the little girl was a clone.

Damn it.

"We'll see the girl first," Brenda decided.

Meeks gave a quick, choppy nod, and just about turned on his heel. She wondered if it was _her_ reputation that had him so quiet. Well, she'd take being ignored over being verbally poked any day. If he did poke at her, she'd have to punch him. The last place you wanted a fight was at a crime scene.

It was a bit of a hike around the house to the back corner. The body had been left in the south-east corner, in a grove of trees planted on the bank of an ornamental pond. Prettier then anything you'd find in the city. Magikarp swam in the pond, apparently clueless as to what was going on up out of the water.

This time, the little girl wasn't so little, had her eyes open, mouth parted. Blood smeared the back and sides of her neck, though she hadn't been cut.

Inside the house was going to be messy, Brenda could tell.

Instead of the white tunic-styled dress the first two girls had been found in, this one was in kakis and a pale yellow blouse. Probably because she looked like a pre-teen, or young teen, instead of a ten year old child. Her face was thinner then the first two, hair cut to her ears. Her muscles were slender, like a file clerk's, instead of thicker, like a runner's, like the first two.

Blood speckled the shirt, a rusty red handprint was just over the heart. Feeling for a pulse, Brenda guessed, and stepped back.

"I want her flagged for priority," she said, and turned towards the house. "Let's take a look inside."

Inside was a bloodbath.

Death hadn't come easy to the men, but it had come quick. They took the bodies from the front of the house, since they'd been strung out from the front door to the back.

The first man had fallen in the- Brenda could think of it only as a 'Grand Entrance'- and his expression, what was left of it, was shocked.

His throat had been torn out. Whether that had come before or after he'd been beaten to a pulp- cheekbones smashed, nose broken, teeth knocked out- was better asked by the ME. Hades would find out.

It'd take fingerprints or DNA to figure out who the poor bastard was. Brenda was betting on him being either Dekker or Mallory. They had been keeping a clone here, babysitting, and gotten killed by their own creation. The other possibility, that this poor soul had just been an innocent bystander killed in his own home, was hard to swallow.

Blood had congealed on the carpet, spilled over onto the wood floor. There was splatter, up onto the ceiling, from the throat. It was a nasty, messy scene, and the Crime Scene techs were already working it. She gestured at the ET's to bag the body, and headed for the next.

Another man, caught from behind in the hall. He laid face down, in a pool of his own wastes. Strangled, Brenda thought, even before she got a good look at his neck.

Ties really were nooses.

"Our suspect's inventive," Brenda said, looking up at Mewtwo. "Didn't waste time, just hammered at them. Strangled this guy with his own tie." She turned to the returning ET's and nodded. "You can take him out."

The third body was in the kitchen. The windows overlooked the backyard, and everything was pale tile and gleaming metal. Blood had been splattered over almost every inch of the kitchen. The cause of death, an oversized steak knife, was still wedged in the victim's chest.

Female, this time, from pure-blood Hoenn stock, Brenda judged. Nothing but surprise and horror on her face. She lay where she'd fallen, one arm crossed over her chest as she'd tried to protect her vitals. Death had leached the color from her skin, so she was an ash-gray, instead of dark, dark brown.

"_Gwen Thompson,"_ Mewtwo said, looking up at Brenda. _"Her picture was attached to several of her reports. Fingerprints will confirm, but unless she has an identical twin…"_

"Wounds make it hard to judge," Brenda said. She crouched down beside the body, careful not to kneel in the blood. She could count seventeen stab wounds right off. "Sure wrecked her suit."

"_Rage. These three, their murders were fueled by rage. The girl in the backyard wasn't."_

"No." Mewtwo's eyes were troubled. If anyone could recognize rage killings, she supposed it was him. Brenda had never been so pissed off she'd killed. "Our girls were… I don't know, I'm tempted to say that the suspect considered them mercy killings."

"_What?"_ Mewtwo shot her a look.

Brenda straightened up, and then tensed. Meeks cleared his throat, and was already sneering when she turned around.

"Mercy killing? What sort of stupidity is that?"

Brenda clenched one fist, and sneered. "The sort of stupidity that comes from nearly a decade in homicide, Meeks," she answered, dropping his rank. It rankled, she could see that in the dull red flush across his cheeks. "The sort of stupidity that comes from seeing this-" She waved at the body, "-and seeing the other victims, and knowing the difference between overkill and the bare minimum." She took one careful step forward, only because she didn't want to mess up any of the blood spatters. "If you were in homicide, I'd listen to your opinion. As you're not, shut up."

She was throwing her first punch before he'd even started to speak. She pulled the blow, her knuckles only a hair's width away from his nose. "Go stand perimeter," she said.

Meeks paled, and left. Brenda sneered after him, and turned to the body again.

"I guess we're going to have to talk to the girl who found them," she said. "Want to bet she's on our scientist list?"

"_No bet,"_ Mewtwo answered. _"I know she is."_

Thursday, August 6, 12:35 P.M.

The woman introduced herself as Elizabeth Taylor. She seemed to have her emotions well in hand; despite having found three people violently murdered, she showed only a few signs of stress. Her hands trembled, and her lips were pressed together into a thin, white line, but she apparently wasn't the type to have hysterics.

Brenda mentally growled, and shook the woman's hand. There was no way Taylor had killed anyone. Timing was wrong, and with her crutches, she couldn't have managed even a fraction of the violence. Unless she'd beaten someone over the head with a crutch, she wasn't a killer.

At least, not one that used her hands.

And she couldn't grill Taylor either, not yet. She would though. That was a promise.

"Ms. Taylor, thanks for speaking with me. I'm Detective Johnson, and my partner, Officer Smith."

Taylor arched one pale eyebrow. "Johnson and Smith? How… common."

"It takes all types," Brenda replied, and sat down. The couch probably cost more then three months worth of her mortgage payments, and it wasn't even half as comfortable then the one she had at home. She'd pulled that one off the street before garbage day. "I just want to go over the facts with you for my investigation. Details matter, even the smallest ones."

Taylor nodded, and folded her hands. "Ask away."

"You've stated the reason for your being here as 'helping set up for a party', that's correct?"

"It is. My friend, Dr. James Mallory, was going to celebrate his re-engagement with Gwen. Dr. Thompson. This would have been the second time they got married, and I think it might have lasted this time." She looked sad, but not as if her friends had died. As if the stock market had dropped a couple points overnight, maybe.

Brenda glanced up at Mewtwo. Three out of four right off the bat. This was too easy. Even considering that Taylor didn't know they were investigating her, this was too easy.

"_What time was the party scheduled for?"_ Mewtwo asked. _"It's a bit early to start setting up, isn't it?"_

Taylor smiled slightly, and shrugged. "Well, I admit, Gwen and I were going to gossip a bit. Once we start talking, we don't… didn't… get much done." A deep, shuddering breath, and Brenda was almost amused to see the tears that suddenly sprung to life in Taylor's eyes. She had the pathetic, helpless woman down, and the tears only added to her air of vulnerability.

"You came up to the gates and saw them broken?" she asked, and Taylor blinked away the tears.

"Yes, I did. I called for the police- I thought it'd been a home invasion, or vandalism, or something like that. This is a safe neighborhood, but not perfect."

"You were told to stay in the car, weren't you?"

"Yes. But I had to make sure my friends were alright."

Uh huh, Brenda thought. Sure you did. "I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Taylor."

"So am I, Detective," Taylor said. She was pure ice queen now, eyes hard. "Very much so."

Thursday, August 6, 12:40 P.M.

"_Her story was obviously fake,"_ Mewtwo said, trailing after Brenda. She nodded, but didn't respond. _"Why didn't you pressure her?"_

"No Miranda," she replied.

"_You could have Mirandized her."_

"Mewtwo, she had a reasonable story. Just because we know its shit doesn't mean she knows that we know its shit. With me so far?"

He snorted, but waved one hand in agreement. They both avoided a patch of broken glass, the remains of some unidentifiable lawn ornament. Mewtwo took especial care of where he put his feet. He, after all, didn't have shoes. The Detective did.

"Okay, so she's trying to sell us a shit story. This is where the public assumption that all cops are morons actually does us some good. We can go back later and ask to talk to her about it again, clarify a few details now that she's had some time to get her feet back under her, so to speak." Brenda's grin was feral, and Mewtwo found himself copying it.

"_And then you break her story into tiny pieces, I take it?"_

"Something like that, yeah."

**End Notes**

Ah, but Brenda, will this Elizabeth Taylor _survive_ for a second interview? Next chapter- fun with autopsies!


	8. No Escape

No Escape

Thursday, August 6, 1:15 P.M.

Brenda didn't give a flying shit that it was rude to try and break down another person's door. She did feel a little twinge of guilt when Hades looked up; he'd flinched like she'd waved a gun in his face. And he looked sick, his face pale enough that he could pass for Caucasian instead of borderline Mediterranean. His hair stood on end, his shirt was rumpled, and sweat beaded at his temples.

Because of that, she didn't start off yelling. She growled. "What's so important you couldn't check out a crime scene?"

"I thought you didn't want me to trust interns with investigations important to your case." He tried to subtly rub at his eyes. "I found something, from the second victim. The second Miss Doe had her appendix removed. Until this morning, it was not pertinent to your investigation."

"What makes it pertinent now?" Brenda asked, stalking over to Hades' desk. Mewtwo flanked her, moving over to stand next to a couple filing cabinets. "And no, I don't trust interns. Creepy bastards."

"That's why I stayed with the evidence, detective," Ben said patiently. "A surgeon performed an appendectomy on Miss Doe, and neglected to remove a prototype surgical device from her body. The modified tweezers are solid metal, and have a hand-carved serial number on the side."

"Some asshole left tweezers in a little girl?" Brenda asked, hardly able to believe it. She looked over at Mewtwo, who snorted.

_"It happens,"_ he said. _"More often then people think."_

Ben nodded. "It's an extremely common mistake. This one will cause him a great deal of trouble. I worked with the interns to look through all recent publications about surgeries and patent applications." He held out a piece of paper. Ben had made several notes in precise block printing. The only image on the paper was a photocopied medical license. "This man performed surgery on Miss Doe. That should be more than enough to have him brought in for questioning."

Brenda took the paper, and frowned. "Looks like someone we're bringing in to you," she said. "If you gave our victim a non-battered face." She looked up. "Four dead. Three are, we think, scientists who worked on the clones. The fourth is another clone, looks fourteen or so."

Ben paled, which left his skin nearly translucent. "Don't give me details, please. I cannot risk introducing bias to the initial examinations."

"I won't," she said, and folded the paper. She tucked it into her back pocket, and looked up. "Breathe, Hades, or you'll fall over."

He smiled wearily. "No time for that, I'm afraid. Do you have any further questions? I'm expecting the retrieval team to reach the morgue within five minutes, and the examination beds are not fully prepared."

"Mind if we watch?" She noticed Mewtwo flinch, and amended her request. "Me, I mean. Smith has to run a check on this guy's friends and family." She pulled out the paper and handed it over.

He was wearing an illusion, and the illusion looked relieved. Weird.

Ben frowned. "I don't work with an assistant, and speak only to record the examination. You would not participate, and any comments you made would be on the autopsy record."

"I can do that," she said. "Smith, get going."

Mewtwo nodded, and left. In contrast to her entrance, he eased the office door shut.

"The morgue is at half capacity today," he remarked. The coroner drained a mug of coffee that had been sitting on his desk. "The hospital doesn't have anyone with full certifications. They can confirm obvious cause of death, but I still am running all forensics." Ben was also still searching for clues for the clones, but he felt that much was obvious. "You have already seen the bodies?"

"Yes. The ET's couldn't bag and transport until I had." She could have used a mug of coffee herself, but didn't ask. Better not to have anything in the stomach during an autopsy. Cutting open bodies tended to task the most iron of stomachs.

He peered into the empty mug, but gave it up as a lost cause. "I hate coffee, but I've been in since six," he explained. "If you want anything, the break room is upstairs. I won't start for at least fifteen minutes."

"I'll make do without," she said. "So, what can you tell me about our clones, besides the tweezers incident? Anything new?"

"Nothing useful. My working hypothesis is that both girls I have examined would have died within half a year of a multi-system organ failure."

"Lovely. Any signs their keepers were trying to fight it?"

"If there were any changes, I won't be able to tell. Their endocrine readings are... well, any expert medical witness will be able to tell that their hormone levels are abnormal."

Brenda pinched the bridge of her nose. "I hate science," she muttered. "Do you know what weird hormone levels would do? They're too young for periods, but..."

"They would not have begun menses." His posture was tense as he stood, and he took no care in entering the morgue quietly. "Even if they had lived through severe difficulties in liver, heart, lung, and digestive function, they would never have started."

"Didn't they have the parts?"

"The organs? Yes, but there was no natural system to regulate hormone production. The scientists introduced mechanisms for beginning endocrine function. They could have used this technology to cure any number of diseases, but they played at being gods."

Brenda shook her head, and leaned against the back wall. Far enough away that she would be out of the way, against one of the few places where nothing important was stacked, stored, bolted down, or shelved. "Power corrupts," she said. "That _is_ what everyone says."

"Maybe the mythic everyone does get something right on occasion. Have you heard of the experiments done with college students, the prison guards and the prisoners? When accountability is removed, and the students are isolated... in two trials, the prison guards severely abused those without power."

"Heard of it, wasn't really surprised. Have you seen some cops? That's why we have IAB, even if it is filled with a bunch of rats."

Brenda looked over as the ET's arrived, with the four body bags. "I want you to look at the girl first," she said. "The other three can wait until you're done with your prelim."

"Detective Johnson, I realize that you have quite the reputation." Ben held her gaze as he pulled on a lab coat. "I will proceed as I always do, with a cursory examination of all bodies brought to the morgue. I will prioritize as I see fit, and I will move in the order that I think best." For once, he didn't look apologetic. "You asked to watch. I said that you will not participate."

Hades had a spine. It was almost impressive. She arched one eyebrow, and then shrugged. He was the one who didn't want any details. "Fine. I did agree, didn't I?"

The ET's still there looked at Ben with raw envy, and no little surprise, as they left.

He nodded absently to the retrieval crew. "Do you have the time to stop upstairs, Mitchell?" he asked the driver. "Zoe has a few special protocols for you, meant for one subset of victims."

"Sure," Mitchell said. She glanced at the body bags, and very nearly shuddered. "Be happy to."

He did nothing with the body bags for several minutes. He placed a tray of sterile instruments at each of the four empty examination tables, and laid out a tape for the recording device. Each tape was labeled carefully. Ben didn't seem to notice that Brenda was still there, and said nothing to her as he unzipped the body bags. "Thursday, August the sixth, at 1:20 P.M. The first victim is a female, early forties, mixed race complexion, brown hair. A visual examination shows seventeen stab wounds and no post-mortem mutilation."

Brenda narrowed her eyes, letting half her mind listen to the details Hades was rattling off, turning the other half to Taylor. The ice queen knew what was going on. No damn way had there been any preparations for a party. Cracking her in the interrogation room was going to be hard, but… Well, she'd dealt with worse. And she had a partner who knew when people were lying.

She looked over at Hades, and wondered how long it was going to take before he was done. Well, so long as it was before midnight, she really didn't care.

Thursday, August 6, 2:00 P.M.

Elizabeth let herself into her house, and smiled faintly at the sound of Mozart. Piano Concerto No. 21 - Andante "Elvira Madigan", if she wasn't mistaken. Number Eight did enjoy Mozart's music. A fortunate chance, that, as Elizabeth was fond of the concertos herself.

She set the unnecessary crutches aside, and walked towards Number Eight's bedroom. She found the clone exactly where she had expected, sprawled in her wheelchair, eyes half closed and head tilted back as she listened to the music.

"Enjoying yourself?" Elizabeth asked, taking a seat on the unmade bed. Number Eight opened her eyes and looked over.

"Yeah," she said, slurring a little. Today was a good day, Elizabeth noted. Number Eight was able to sit up unaided, didn't require her belt to stay in the wheelchair, and wasn't reduced to sign language. The recent batch of drug cocktails was actually doing their work. "What happened?"

"Nothing too important," Elizabeth said. "Three of my colleagues decided they wished to take a vacation, and another clone succumbed to organ failure. That is all."

Number Eight nodded, and looked down at her hands. "I'll miss the others. Which one died?"

"Number Nine. James stayed with her when she died before leaving for his vacation."

Number Eight nodded again, and looked at her CD player. "Are you going to create more of us?" she asked.

"Eventually," Elizabeth said. Once they found the proper minds to take James, Michael, and Gwen's place. That the scientists were dead and the clones murdered was not something to share with Number Eight. Far better to uphold the illusion that her fellow clones were simply coming to the end of their lifespan. The clone would be dead before the deception was revealed.

"I hope you fix the problems."

"I believe it relates to several of the repetitive genes we removed from your DNA. I believe if we remove fewer of them, the health of future projects shall improve."

"That's good." Number Eight reached out with her right hand- her good hand- and stopped the CD. "If you don't mind, Ms. Taylor, I'm kind of tired. Do you mind if I go to sleep now?"

"Certainly. Will you need any help getting into bed?"

"No, I'll be fine." Number Eight smiled. "Thanks, though."

Elizabeth nodded, and got up. She paused in the doorway, and turned towards the clone. "If you feel any difficulty breathing," she began, then stopped when she saw Number Eight was not paying attention. She was looking at something past Elizabeth's hip. The door, most likely. "Number Eight!" she snapped.

And then her hip burst into fire and she fell to the floor.

Four jumped and landed on the bad doctor's back, knees to either side of the spine. She tangled her fingers into dark hair, and rested her fingertips against the bad doctor's temples. With a quick wrench, the neck snapped, and the bad doctor stopped breathing. Four looked up and smiled at her sister.

"Hi, Eight. You look sick." She frowned. Sick and tired and sad, that was how Eight looked. Eight always looked sick and tired, but sad was new. "I can make you better."

Eight looked up and away, the way she always always always did when thinking. "Can you?" she asked. "You didn't have to kill her, you know."

Kill who? Four shrugged, and stepped off the whatever it was she'd been kneeling on. "Eight? How tired are you?"

Eight smiled. It made Four feel funny inside, like she should crawl away someplace small and dark. "Oh, I'm very tired," she said.

"Then you need to sleep," Four pointed out. "Do you want to sleep?"

Eight looked back, and smiled, bright and happy and she was holding her arms open for a hug. "Yes," she said. "I'd like to sleep. Just like Nine, and Five, and Six, okay? Will you put me in a pretty place to nap too?"

"Of course," Four replied, and moved forward into the hug. "You'll have to wait until night time, though," she warned. "Nosy people live around here."

"I can wait. I'll have all the time in the world." Eight took Four's tiny hand in her bigger one, and squeezed. "I love you. I'm ready."

"Okay." Four moved her free hand to the back of Eight's neck, and smiled. "It won't hurt. Promise!"

She squeezed.

It was very quick. Eight stiffened, and then relaxed. Four studied her sister, lying so strange in the chair with the big wheels. That didn't look very comfortable. Look, there was a good bed right there. Eight could sleep there until night time. Then she'd go to the pretty flowers Four had already found for her sister.

She moved her older-younger sibling, and scowled at the chair. It took up too much room. There was a closet, she could put it in there. Eight wouldn't need it.

The chair was light, compared to some of the things Four could lift. She closed the closet door on the chair, and turned around.

And screamed.

Three was staring at her!

_I don't like the fire!_ Three yelled, eyes open wide wide very wide, mouth open even wider as she wailed. _You put me in the fire! Why? What'd I do? Four Four Four I want sleep!_

"I'm sorry!" Four said, sobbing. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

_Sleep! I'm tired! You're tired! Sleep sister, sleep!_

Four stopped crying. "Not yet," she said. "You have to wait, Three. I'll put us to sleep after our sisters are sleeping. Then we can all sleep together and everything will be fine. Okay?"

Her sister smiled, bright and cheerful again. _Okay. I don't want to watch anymore. Close the window, Four, you're letting in the cold._

Four nodded, and lifted the mirror off the wall. She smiled at her sister again, and then smashed the mirror down against the floor. Glass cut her hands, arms, face, but she didn't care.

She was going to make everything better. Everything was going to be okay, she'd promised.

Thursday, August 6, 7:45 P.M.

Brenda sank down into her desk chair, and stared at Mewtwo. Mewtwo stared right back. The bullpen was quiet, dayshift having gone away for the night. Nightshift had shuffled in, and was mostly concerned with paperwork and research. There were a few cops, like Brenda and Mewtwo, whose work had run over.

"You get to wrangle with Payroll about the overtime," Brenda said, finally breaking the silence. "My brain's gone to mush, I can't do it."

"_Are you alright?"_

"Fine. Just fine. Didn't throw up, so that's a plus." She leaned back in her chair, grinning a little as it creaked and groaned in protest. "Want to know what I found out?"

"_Go right ahead. I have been waiting all day for this."_ Mewtwo arched his eyebrows, and waved one hand.

"…Human bodies are freaky and disgusting. And I hate rib cutters."

He closed his eyes, and, she thought, growled a little. Damn, he was picking up her habits. Did that mean she was picking up any of his? She hadn't noticed anything weird. _"About the case?"_

"Human bodies being freaky is part of the case. Did you know nerves can die? And that a good coroner can tell when they've died? And- very yuck- can also tell when someone's been touching a girl in an inappropriate sexual manner?" She clenched her fists. Yeah, black light- or whatever the fuck it'd been, it'd looked like a black light- revealed bruises invisible to the naked eye. And, bonus, the bruises on the clone's shoulders? Just a bit big for their murder suspect.

"_What happened to the clone?"_ Mewtwo asked, his eyes wide and illusion flickering. Neither of them bothered to check that his slip had been seen. Nightshift would care even less then Dayshift did.

"Sexual assault," Brenda repeated. She smirked when Mewtwo bared his teeth. "Yeah, kind of my response. There wasn't any DNA to run, guess the guy gloved up, or just hadn't touched the girl in a while. But I also bet you I can guess just which bastard did it."

That snapped him out of any homicidal thoughts. He still looked angry, she thought, but at least he didn't look like he wanted to bite anyone on the neck. _"Oh?"_

"Two of our victims were killed quickly, with whatever means was at hand. Yeah, they were mauled some, but it would still have been quick. And yet the third was strangled with his tie."

"_A slow death, so the murderer could talk to him?"_

"That's my bet," she admitted. "Granted, there's no way to charge the guy. He's dead. And no way to prove he's the one that assaulted the girl. But if he comes back as Mallory, then there's good reason to suspect he's the bastard. Mallory's sheet-"

"_Has sexual assault on record,"_ Mewtwo finished, eyes narrow. _"Why wasn't he arrested?"_

"Girl dropped the charge, it got swept under the rug. Happens. Sucks, but it happens." Brenda scowled. "Anyways. So, slow death… 'You did this, this is why you're dying, this is why you're going to suffer'."

"_This isn't making me feel any better."_

"Me either."

The two sat in silence, occasionally looking at each other, most of the time staring at a wall, a coffee pot, a light switch. Mewtwo drummed his fingers on his desk. Brenda rocked back in her chair.

"_I'm starting to have a lot of sympathy for our murderer,"_ Mewtwo said.

"So am I." Brenda raised her eyebrows when Mewtwo looked over at her, surprised. "What? I am. From everything we've dug up, we've got what amounts to a little girl, dying sisters, bastards running the show- and she snaps, has the power to do what she thinks has to be done…" She waved one hand, and scowled.

"_Would you do the same?"_

She didn't know. She was pretty sure Mewtwo had, if not done exactly as their murderer had, had done something similar. But her? She just didn't know. She'd never been in that situation, after all.

"I like to think I would," she said, and left it at that. "Our strangled guy died last, by the way. Hades is pretty firm about that. Face bashed guy was first."

"_So, what happened, the clone came in the front door?"_

"Got any reason to suspect she didn't?"

"_The door wasn't broken."_

Brenda gifted him with her 'you're missing the obvious' look. "Was the door _locked_?" she asked. "We don't know that, but at a guess, I'll say no. Besides, the windows were broken in, she could've come in through one of those. Face bash guy could've heard the breaking window, come to investigate, gotten killed. The woman, hearing the noise, runs to the kitchen to arm herself- or warn the clone, whichever- gets caught, gets dead."

"_And then our strangling victim runs in- from upstairs, do you think? And also gets killed."_

"And then," Brenda said, her eyes darkening, "the clone is either found and killed, or chased and killed. Hades wasn't too sure about which it was, only that there wasn't much trauma."

"_From the killing."_

"Right. From the killing." Brenda looked down at her fingertips, and growled. "If he weren't already dead," she muttered, then shook her head. "Let's turn in. Hades will be sending the official report over tomorrow. He's still working, I left when he started weighing organs."

**End Notes**

So, wow. Lots of stuff happened, yay. And see? Fun with mortuary stuff. Next chapter... Eh, I don't know, nightmares from the both of them, probably. And a better discription of Mewtwo's new neighborhood, beyond 'run down and dangerous'.


	9. Fear

Fear

Friday, August 7, 4:45 A.M.

Brenda knew it was a dream. She'd had nightmares before, had stopped freaking out every time she found herself trapped in the twisted depths of her own mind. She had pills for this sort of thing; one pill a night during the cases that really got to her, and she slept the night through. She'd forgotten to take the pill, and now she was in the midst of a nightmare.

It didn't change how sick she felt, or how she really, really wanted to hurt someone, but it was nice knowing what was going on.

Because Mewtwo was dead in this nightmare. He was dead, he was sprawled on a morgue table where her desk should be, Hades was pulling open his chest with those damn chest spreaders and she couldn't _move_, damn it!

She was crying, which was weird. She never cried, she was pretty sure she'd forgotten how.

Hades looked up, and smiled in her direction. "Detective Johnson, just in time. Why don't you come over here. I've only just begun."

She didn't think she walked over. It was the dream, of course. In dreams, it was possible to go from the bullpen doorway to beside her desk- which wasn't a desk- without moving. And the bullpen shifted to the morgue, the colors blurring and running together like a still-wet painting left out in the rain.

"What- why?" She reached out, but couldn't actually touch Mewtwo's shoulder. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. She knew this was a dream, but it felt real, so far as she could tell. She could smell the blood; feel the solidity of the floor beneath her feet.

And for one terrifying moment, she considered the possibility that it wasn't a dream.

That was the moment Hades wrenched Mewtwo's chest wide open, peeling back fur and skin and muscle and oh, Gods… Brenda had to look away for just a second. It was a dream. And if she threw up in a dream, did that mean she'd throw up for real? And if she did throw up, would she choke on her own vomit and die? Be a pretty pathetic way to go… She reminded herself that this was just a dream, and looked back at the body.

Hades had managed to remove the bony chest plates, crack open the ribs, and extend the Y-cut all the way down to Mewtwo's navel. Some of the organs were flat out missing, she could tell. She'd only watched a real autopsy- four of them- the day before. Real autopsies had layers of fat and odd, jell-o-like tissue that clung and had to be peeled back. None of that was present, fortunately. If it had been, she would've been a bit worried about her mental health.

Not that she wasn't worried now. She was watching her partner being dissected. Sort of.

Hades pulled out Mewtwo's heart- wasn't he supposed to cut a bunch of veins before he could do that?- and weighed it in one hand. "Not bad. A bit big, but he's a bit big himself, wouldn't you agree?" Hades asked, managing to morph into her old high school science teacher. Mr. McCormick smiled politely, and put the heart down. Brenda couldn't help but stare at the organ. It looked like a 3D image of a valentine's heart, not like a real heart.

"You know, Brenda," Mr. McCormick said, in that nasty, nasally voice that always managed to piss her off. "You really should be more careful." He tapped one finger against a lung. "This might happen for real."

"This is just a dream," she told him. "Fucked up, but that's _it_."

"You'd think with a psychologist for a mother-"

"Adopted mother."

"-you'd have a higher opinion of psychology. Oh, well. Hold out your hands, please? There's not enough room."

Despite herself, Brenda held out her hands. And flinched when Mr. McCormick pulled out Mewtwo's large and small intestines- and then draped them over her arms.

"Ew," she muttered, stomach rolling. She could _feel_- nasty, nasty- the guts sliding over her arms, heavy and slick and still a little warm, which was warped, they shouldn't be warm…

Something slapped onto the intestines. She automatically put her elbows together to keep it from dropping, looked, and saw a stomach. It looked like an actual stomach, shaped a little like a J, a bit yellow in color. Her gorge struggled to rise, but she swallowed it down. "Wha- what, why do I have this?"

"Do you really need to ask?" Mr. McCormick asked. He put a second organ into her hands. It was vaguely purple, weighed about four pounds or so, and was the size of a football.

She was pretty damn sure she had Mewtwo's liver in her hands, and his stomach in the crook of her arms.

Her own stomach rebelled. She managed to wake up, and somehow made it to the bathroom before she threw up everything she'd eaten. For the past week.

She spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom, most of the time bent over the toilet with dry heaves. She could still feel Mewtwo's guts, and each time she remembered, she retched again. Even when she could bring up nothing but a little sour tasting spit, she kept near the toilet. She needed to calm down.

She needed to check up on Mewtwo. It was way late- or early, whatever- but that didn't matter. She needed to make sure he was alive and in one piece. He lived in the Shades. Anything could have happened.

He was her partner. She _had_ to make sure he was okay. And not gutted.

Brenda heaved over the toilet again, dragging her nails across the linoleum floor. Okay, no thinking about guts. She could do that. And if anyone _dared_ to threaten Mewtwo with gutting, not that anyone could hurt him… She'd kill them. Flat out kill them.

That decided, she got to her feet. Her knees were weak, and she almost fell over. She would have, except she managed to grab the shower curtain before her legs gave out. She sat back down, on the side of the tub, and groaned. Her hands were shaking, her throat burned like a bitch, she had a nasty taste in her mouth… She felt like shit.

Somehow, she managed to get up, brush her teeth, and check herself out in the mirror. She had paled to a shade of taupe normally seen in dead Islanders. Vomit flecked her cheeks and stuck to her hair. In the interests of speed, she turned on the shower and stuck her head into the spray. It was ice cold, but it got her clean. She wrung out her hair and shook her head.

Then she headed out the door. She was going to check on Mewtwo. Barefoot, weak kneed, feeling like someone had used her stomach for a punching bag, she was going to head into the Shades without so much as a pair of brass knuckles.

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe she really was crazy.

Friday, August 7, 4:45 A.M.

Strangely enough, the Shade dwellers left her alone. She wasn't sure why. She looked and felt as weak as a newborn. Shade dwellers were a tough lot, almost like Islanders, only without the Gods to govern their actions. An Islander, for example, would never murder a neighbor for their shoes; they'd murder over an insult, even just a nasty look, and take the shoes as a trophy afterwards…

That was besides the point. Brenda shook her head and kept walking. She was only on the fringes of the Shades, an area where at least half the people had quasi-legal jobs. The other half were either children, or criminals. Deeper into the Shades, though… Mewtwo had to be the only one with an actual job, legalities be damned.

Vomit-stench smeared the air, nearly thick enough to touch. She saw a puddle of piss on a door step, saw a homeless man taking a shit in an alley. And this was the _good_ part of the Shades. Just what the hell had Mewtwo been thinking?

She continued on into the Shades, kept her eyes moving, side to side. Kept her ears open for footsteps, anyone following her. Gods only knew she looked like a target.

Or maybe not. Weak kneed and with a sore stomach, she knew she still moved like an Islander. Predator, not prey. She'd never felt so thankful for nearly seven thousand years of history and pre-history, give or take a couple centuries, of ongoing war in all her life.

Unless these Shade bastards shoved a pole through her stomach, she'd be able to fight them off. And even if they did get her with a pole, she could probably manage to rip the pole out and beat them with it before she died. Something to remember. She was an Islander, damn it, and had the scars to prove it.

She saw a few street toughs, saw them see her. Saw them sneer, but move away. What the fuck?

Heat moved up behind, close enough that she could feel it through her thin shirt. "What's a pretty Island-bitch like you doing down here?" a man hissed. His breath tickled her ear. A knife, cold and dull-edged from use, pressed against the side of her neck.

Brenda jerked her elbow back, swept her bad leg back and around and took her would-be attacker's legs right out from under him. He landed badly, elbow cracking against the cracked cement road. He growled a curse, and glared up at her. He was Islander dark, maybe a little lighter then she was.

"This pretty Island-bitch be visiting kin," she told him, allowing her accent free rein. Damn it, she'd been trying to get rid of it all her life. Still, it made him flinch back a little, though she'd have loved to know why. "This pretty Island-bitch planning ways of killing little Island-whore-son he show his face here again. Scram."

He scrammed. She watched him go for a second, and then went back to scanning her surroundings. At least now she had an idea as to why the Shade dwellers avoided her. Islanders dwelt here, probably here illegally, hiding from the Priests of Justice. Figured.

At least it kept her from being molested. She didn't really want to fight right now.

Friday, August 7, 5:00 A.M.

Brenda had to duck a floating lamp, side step the mini-'fridge, and duck something mechanical Mewtwo had found in the police trash bin. She thought it was a toaster, he was of the opinion that it had been a radio in some former life. Whatever. It was currently floating in mid air, like the vast majority of his possessions.

"You know," she murmured, studying his sleeping, twitching form. "You could always move back in with me. Furniture's all set up and everything. More things to throw about during a nightmare."

Nightmare, night terror… He had them. She knew he had them. She'd offer her sleep pills, except she didn't know just what they'd do to a pokemon. Back when he'd been on her couch, she'd had to stumble out of her bedroom at least once a night to throw a pillow at his head. That's what she sort of remembered, anyways. And it wasn't like it was something you talked about. 'Yeah, you were twitching and groaning in your sleep, and I think you might have said something about 'killing you all', are you alright?' No. Just no.

It figured that she didn't have a choice this time. Not unless she wanted Mewtwo to wake up screaming.

She touched his shoulder, half to wake him up, half to reassure herself that _this_ wasn't a dream, that she wasn't still stuck in a nightmare.

Next thing she knew, she was pinned to the floor, staring up at pissed, glowing blue eyes. A three-fingered hand was clenched around her throat, and she felt _claws_ pricking her skin. Since when did Mewtwo have claws?

"This is new," she growled, and shoved at his chest. "Get off. I can't breathe good."

Mewtwo _growled_.

Sheryl wasn't a big fan of Freud, with his ego, super ego, and id. Brenda wasn't a big fan of him either, mostly because of the work he'd done with dreams. And while Mewtwo growling didn't make her a Freud convert, she had to admit there was some evidence to the 'three levels of the mind' shit. Because on one level, she wanted to hunt down and kill whatever had pissed off or terrified Mewtwo that badly. On another level, she wanted to rip her partner limb from limb for threatening her. And… Screw it, she just wanted violence.

And Mewtwo was obviously pretty ready for violence too.

Brenda grabbed both his throats, one for each hand. She squeezed, intending to cut off his air.

It didn't work out the way it was supposed to.

One second, she'd been pinned down, uncomfortable but not in any real pain. The next, her left bicep was on fire. She couldn't move for a full three seconds- Mewtwo had just _bitten_ her! Only the sight of blood welling up around his teeth, start to drip down her arm, knocked her out of her shock.

"Gah!" She jerked her knee up between Mewtwo's legs, and bared her teeth as the glow died out from his eyes and he whimpered. Bite her, would he? Fuckwit. "Get off!" She wasn't quite strong enough to throw him away, and his mouth was still attached to her arm, but she was able to shift him slightly. He let go of her throat. As a good will gesture, she let go of his necks, and stopped trying to castrate him with her knee.

And that was when things got weird. Well, weirder.

Mewtwo made a weird noise halfway between a growl and a groan, and buried his face in the crook of Brenda's neck. Then he nuzzled her neck, and flexed one hand- with claws, what the fuck- against her shoulder.

"_Are you alright?"_ he asked, the first sense he'd made since last night.

"I'm bleeding all over your floor and you're crushing me. Move."

Brenda kept glaring, despite the fact that Mewtwo looked like she'd kicked him in the face and told him his computer had died. A harder heart then hers would have melted. Not that he needed to know she wasn't angry. A little anger was going to be useful.

"You," she said, and pointed at his nose. "Have issues. A lot of them. They probably all have long names and are hideously difficult to pronounce."

Mewtwo ducked his head, and tried to subtly swipe at his mouth. Brenda growled and headed for the bathroom. A washcloth, damp, would get the blood out of his fur a lot easier. Then she could convince him to rinse and spit with a glass of water. Once that was all done, her arm would have stopped bleeding and she'd be able to beat him over the head with his own stupidity.

It was a good plan. She liked that plan.

"Hold still," she grumbled, and tilted his face up. Lots of blood, but she managed to get rid of most of it. "Now. Glass of water, rinse your mouth out. Brush your teeth if it makes you feel better."

She was going to hurt her throat if she kept growling the way she was. Damn it, screw beating him over the head with his stupidity, she needed a stick. Bastard kept glancing over at her as if he expected her to shoot at him. With a gun she didn't have.

Yeah, she was insane. Down in the Shades, in a fight with her partner- who had claws! And fangs! And why didn't she know that?- and no gun. Real smart, she was, oh yes. Giving lie to all those stories about Islanders not being able to do anything other then fight and fuck.

Judging by the little jump and wide eyed look of shock Mewtwo had, he'd been reading her mind again. Or she'd been projecting. It didn't really matter much either way. Picking at him for reading her mind on top of the whole fight? She didn't want to bring someone acting like a whipped dog up home for dinner later tonight. Sheryl would kill her.

"You finished yet?" she asked, and gestured at the bed. "Sit."

Mewtwo slunk over and sat. Fucking apartment, so small it felt crowded with just two people. And it was mostly empty!

Brenda examined her bicep, and grimaced. Well, at least she didn't have to worry too much about infection. It was Mewtwo, after all, Mr. Vegetarian and the poster boy for hygiene. Just what sorts of bacteria could play in _his_ mouth?

Never mind, she didn't want to know. She'd put some antiseptic cream on the bite, slap a bandage on. If it got bad, well, that was what Melanie was for.

"I don't know what you freaked at, don't care neither. You try and strangle at me again, I won't play nice no more."

Mewtwo frowned, and tilted his head. Anyone else would have opened their mouth to talk, and stopped. Finally, though, he spoke.

"_Detective? Did you know you have a drawl?"_

Where was a stick when she needed it most? Bastard. "Yes, I know I've a drawl. It's been said. Now. New rule- no biting me. Anyone else, fair game. Understand?"

Mewtwo nodded, and looked down at his hands. Brenda just stifled a groan. Dinner with her parents couldn't come soon enough.

**End Notes**

Why no, no one died. And no one mentioned the clones. Surprise! Chapter ten's going to be fun, Davis is BACK! (And Brenda's not happy about it. Or about the shrink apointment either.)


	10. Specific Role

Specific Role

Friday, August 7, 10:00 A.M.

Mewtwo looked up away from the computer screen at Brenda's growl. He felt himself tense at the sound, and nearly winced. Had she bumped her arm against something? He couldn't think of what else could make her angry at this moment in time. They were filling out reports, what the cops called 'sixes and sevens', referencing previous incidents.

He _felt_ her mental shields bristle. He pulled away before he could get cut on her mental spines, and looked where she was looking.

Lieutenant Davis stood in the doorway, and swept the room once visually. Mewtwo tilted his head, and glanced back at Brenda. Just why couldn't the two women get along? Or at least, why couldn't Brenda still the hostilities for an hour or so? He shook his head, and turned back to his reports.

Smith looked about four shades too light. More accurately, Smith's _illusion_ was pale. Davis saw no other flaws in the image as she approached, but she could feel that Johnson's glare wasn't up to snuff. Something was wrong with Smith, and it was enough to make Brenda Johnson worry. It took less than a second for Davis to make her decision.

"Smith, do you have ten minutes for a consult?" Davis asked. "It's early enough that I shouldn't interrupt your other cases." He was psychic, and apparently powerful enough to blow up several cities. He could catch a projected thought. 'Your illusion looks like hell, I don't imagine that you're any better.'

Mewtwo looked up, eyes wide, and almost immediately looked over at Brenda. The Detective looked like she was going to blow a blood vessel, but she was also staring, quite pointedly, at her computer screen. She wasn't going to argue, point out that he was _her_ partner and not available to consults?

Was the sky falling? Mewtwo nodded, and got up. _"Ah, we can steal a conference room, I think,"_ he said, still off balance. Consult on what?

Davis nodded politely to Johnson as they passed, but said nothing as drastic as good morning. "The conference rooms are private, of course? It's a sensitive matter." 'No case, you just look like you need time out of the illusion. Are your conference rooms that good?'

Mewtwo nodded, and closed his eyes. Two conversations at the same time, never mind that he was psychic, was just slightly disorienting. _"Conference room A, I think. No one's gone in since they saw the photos of my- the Detective's and mine- case."_

"You're on the case with the clones. There's a lot of interest, but none of my little birdies know a thing about science," Davis said.

_"We have a few little birdies of our own, who do. And there's myself, of course."_ No need to bluntly state he was using his hacking skills to get some of the information. It was only background, about procedures and not people. What the Detective didn't know wouldn't hurt her, or the case.

The conference room was still strewn about with papers and pictures, several murder boards set up around the room. Pictures of the three dead clones, sketches from Dr. McClure's work, and empty coffee mugs competed the picture of chaos.

"Perfect," she said. "No one else is going to come in here. The room's shielded enough for sensitive conversations?"

_"I don't bother with my illusion in here, if that's what you mean_." Mewtwo turned to face Davis, frowning. _"Are we here just because my illusion looked pale? Or do you really need to talk to a psychic about something?"_

"All I need to do this morning is talk to Dallas, which is not a productive use of my life. You're much more interesting, and your illusion wasn't just four full shades off. It was crap quality."

He couldn't really help it, he snorted. _"I will agree with you about Dallas. The entire precedent would agree with you about him. I think Dallas is the only thing you and Brenda agree upon."_ He ignored the comment about his illusion. It wasn't as if he could argue.

"Normally, I would think that you hadn't slept well, something. This time, I think Johnson's worried about you."

_"The case involves cloning, I have an intimate understanding of the process. I'm trying not to dwell on it."_

"This all came to a head overnight?"

_"Not precisely."_ Past time to change the subject, he decided. _"May I ask you a question? Why does the Detective hate you? Is it an Islander thing?"_

Davis frowned at him, puzzled. "It could be. I'm not an Islander, Smith."

_"You're not?"_ Mewtwo gave Davis a quick one over. Dark skin, black hair, dark eyes. _"But you look like one."_

She frowned, and sighed. "I'm a Hoenn native, Smith. That was a fascinating way to change the subject, but you could just tell me it's none of my business."

He shrugged. _"I'm not used to saying that, and having it work. It's none of your business."_

"Then that's all," Davis said. "Your partner didn't know how to start talking, and now she has an opening."

She had gotten along with Officer Vahan Smith, the researcher extraordinaire. Smith the psychic didn't seem to like her.

Mewtwo rolled his eyes and sank down into a chair. He needed more sleep. _"I suppose you'll be very subtle and try to pull the details out without my noticing?"_ he asked, and looked skyward. _"I have been having nightmares. The Detective woke me up out of one and I bit her. The taste of blood was a little too sweet. Is that enough?"_

"Subtle isn't my style, Smith. I'm patient, but I don't trick people." Davis decided that the 'sweet taste of blood' was one of those rhetorical statements to be considered later. "If you don't want to tell me all about your kink, fine. I don't need to know a thing. I want to know, sure, but it's not my job to find out."

Mewtwo twitched his tail, thinking. _"I don't like seeing dead children,"_ he finally said. _"They were experimented upon when they were alive. If they had not been classified as 'evidence', the bodies might have been taken for continued experimentation. I just... There is nothing I can do, with my power. And of course I feel guilty for trying to kill Brenda earlier this morning."_

"You're a saint, then. I would've taken that step ages ago." Davis was not going to let this conversation turn fully macabre; she only wanted to make sure that Mewtwo was okay. "Johnson looked fine to me."

_"I bit her arm. I was trying to strangle her before that..."_

It took a minute for Mewtwo to notice that Davis wasn't doing, or saying, anything. He lifted his eyebrows, and coughed. _"Nightmare. She woke me up. I wasn't exactly... Aware of what I was doing, you could say."_

"Night terrors, right," she said. "You two together?"

Very pointedly, Mewtwo gestured at himself. _"Pokemon,"_ he said. He waved his hand at the wall, in the general direction of the Homicide bullpen. _"Human. Besides, she barely tolerates me."_

Davis rolled her eyes. "Like any other pokemon in the world would sit here in a conference room and talk about nightmares. Johnson has her own definition of like and dislike, Smith. You're her partner, I'm the bitch that keeps dragging her partner off for consults.

_"Lieutenant... Never mind. Is there anything else?"_

"You know what shrinks are for, right? They're to make problems small enough for you to deal with on your own," she said, standing slowly. It was too early for her muscles to adjust quickly. "I've said that you could just call me Davis. If the bastards in charge have their way, I'll have some unpronounceable title in the next few months. Some kind of inter-departmental liaison or other shit heavy on paperwork and low on use."

Mewtwo smirked. _"By coincidence, I'm going to talk to a shrink this evening. I look forward to the fireworks if you are transferred here, though."_

"Good. Two of my cops ended up with our station's shrink talking about your case. Three dead little girls, cops start getting down. You catch those bastards, right? Best therapy there is."

Mewtwo nodded, and headed for the door. _"Actually, I find the best therapy is scaring them senseless. But catching them works well, too."_

Friday, August 7, 10:00 A.M.

If something was six or seven weeks back, how the fucking hell was she supposed to remember what the fuck had happened? Her memory was good, but not that good. Once it'd past the three week mark, unless it was an on going case, the details were flat out gone. She wasn't sure if she could blame that six month nap she'd taken just before turning eleven or not, but it probably hadn't helped.

She jotted down a few more notes about a traffic stop she and Mewtwo had been involved in- though it'd been more of a 'suspect sees cops. Suspect panics and drives into a light post, injuring himself and the car' situation, if she remembered it right. She thought she did, since it _was_ pretty unusual.

She looked up as one of the ever present gophers walked towards her desk. "Can I help you?" she asked, making sure to sound like the only help the kid would get would be off a cliff. No need to give her co-workers heart attacks or anything. They were already worried because she'd only had two cups of coffee since coming in, anything weirder and they'd try and take her to a hospital.

The kid tilted her head, and frowned. "Brenda Johnson?" she asked. Brenda nodded, and the kid smiled. "Oh, good. I'm Elaine Clark, I'm here about a complain Dr. Sullivan filed against you."

Brenda raised her eyebrows. Elaine had dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin the color of cream. If the girl had scars, Brenda would eat her badge. It was like looking at a doll made human. Vaguely creepy.

"A complaint?" she asked, thinking back. Dr. Sullivan, Dr. Sullivan, who was that? Oh, right, the crazy psychiatrist who said she had Borderline Personality Disorder. "I can't imagine why."

Elaine smirked, and shrugged. "Well, it's obviously nonsense, but I just need to talk with you for a few minutes. Anywhere we can go that's a little more private?"

Brenda glanced around the bullpen, and smirked. "Yeah, actually. Let me just check with Lieutenant Kimishima."

Elaine trailed after as Brenda got up and headed for the Lieutenant's office. She knocked once, a mere formality as Kimishima was one of those lucky souls who had a large office with windows. The day Kimishima drew the blinds on those windows was the day he retired, or so everyone said.

The Lieutenant arched an eyebrow, and waved them in. "Yes?" he asked.

The man was an Islander, even if he was a quarter-blood from the North-East islands and Brenda three-quarters from the far South. She could talk more or less frankly with him, even if he did look more like a Caucasian then someone from the Orient.

"Can I borrow your office for an interview?" she asked. "Someone got snarky about my attitude, and now someone else has to clean up the mess, and the men are gossips."

Kimishima laughed, and stood up. "Go right ahead," he said. "I'll just see what the coffee machine's turned out today."

Brenda closed the office door behind him, and gestured to one of the visitor's chairs for Elaine. "I don't think I should sit behind the desk," she said.

"Why not?"

"Don't have the rank, don't want it neither."

Elaine tilted her head, then shrugged. "If you say so. Now. Dr. Sullivan said you were rude, confrontational, and left the session before anything could be done."

"Sounds about right." Brenda sat down in her chair, and grinned. "I didn't like him. Dr. Boris is a nicer guy."

"Was, since he retired to someplace sunny and warm." Elaine smiled, and chuckled. "Any reason his last request was to _not_ tell you where that was?"

"Might've been the rock I chucked at his head."

"Rock?"

"A decoration he kept on his desk. It dented the wall something awful." Brenda shrugged. "So, we've established that I tossed Sullivan's ego in his face and flaunted his authority. I don't like him. Next?"

"Know anything about why a review board's looking at him?"

Did Sheryl actually call some mysterious Psychiatric review board? Brenda would have laughed if the idea wasn't quite so weird. Did that sort of thing even exist? "Not a clue," she replied. "Though I did call my mother to complain. Sheryl Lance, ever hear of her?"

"Only a few dozen times a day. A few of the shrinks I've worked with quote the woman like she's God."

"That's my mom," Brenda said, feeling rather proud. "You'd have to ask her about this review board thing, though."

"Nah, I'll let the good doctor sink or swim on his own. Are you going to file a complaint? Even by his notes, I can see he put about five minutes thought into your case." Elaine wrinkled her nose. "I think he just decided he wasn't going to like you."

"Can't imagine why."

"Probably because you're one of the few people I've heard of who got detention nearly every day while in high school, yet managed to pull off some of the highest marks I've heard of." At Brenda's sharp look, Elaine elaborated. "I looked through your file for Dr. Sullivan's notes, saw copies of your report cards. Impressive."

"I'm good at memorization." So long as it involved paper, facts, and not having to retain any information longer then three weeks. Studying had been 'fun', and she'd always been good at taking notes. "Anything else?"

"Only that you still need to complete a psychiatric review, but it doesn't have to be with Dr. Sullivan. Unfortunately, Dr. Boris made sure you had a reputation among his colleges, and no one's eager to take you on."

"It's not like I ever tried to kill him."

"Good to know." Elaine stood up, and pulled a card out of her pocket. Brenda accepted it automatically, and nearly smirked. The card looked rather wrinkled, some of the smaller print nearly impossible to read.

"You have a P.H.D.?" she asked, squinting down at the card.

"I know it's pretty sudden, but is Sunday afternoon, around three, good for you? I have an opening then- and then I'm booked for the rest of the month."

"Ah, no, that's fine." Brenda stood up and shoved the card into her pocket. "Three, Sunday, where?"

"I work out of the Tower, actually. Profiler. Fifth floor, room 502. I'll see you then." Elaine- Dr. Clark- held out her hand. Brenda shook it, and escorted her out of the bullpen.

Then she wandered back to her desk, noticed Mewtwo was back, and sat down. She had paperwork to finish up, then they could go back to pounding the pavement and finding more clues. Probably a few more bodies would turn up as well.

Profiler, huh? Maybe Brenda would take the case to Dr. Clark. Couldn't hurt. Might not help, but it couldn't hurt.

Friday, August 7, 3:12 P.M.

"That's it, we're done here."

Mewtwo looked up, just in time to see Brenda dump the last of her coffee into her plant's soil. He winced a little, but didn't comment. What else was she to do with it? It was probably undrinkable even by her standards now, and the garbage bin was wire mesh, the coffee would leak out.

"_Done?"_ he asked, turning off his computer. Early or not, he wasn't going to complain about leaving early.

"Well, yeah. We were in around what, six-thirty? Unless another body shows up or Hades finds something new on our current three, we won't get anything more. What's her name, Elizabeth Taylor, she's not returning my phone calls." Brenda scowled at the telephone as if it was responsible for that lack, then continued. "We've got an hour and a half of driving ahead of us, longer if the traffic's bad. I want to get there in time to have a nice dinner, conversation, whatever, and then get _back_ before midnight."

"_I do believe that's one of your longer speeches, Detective. Who are you trying to convince, me or you?"_

She grimaced. "Me. This is probably the first time I've left work early in… Gods. Years."

Mewtwo chose not to mention the numerous times she'd left since he started working with her, only to realize that each time had involved work. Personal time was something else.

He trailed after her to the stairwell, sighing a little as they started down the steps. He cheated a little, floating, not even bothering with his illusion. It wasn't as if there were any cameras to worry about, and he would hear footsteps long before anyone could see him sans illusion. Brenda had to suffer on her own. She'd be limping after this.

"_Have we only been working on this a week?"_ he asked, breaking the quiet.

"What now?"

"_The case. It's only been a week?"_

The Detective huffed, and paused a moment on the second story landing. "Well, yeah. Three dead girls, six dead bodies. That's a lot, for a week. Do you want the technical lecture, or can you just take my word for it?"

"_You seem to enjoy lecturing."_

"Only sometimes." Brenda tapped a finger against her thigh, and shrugged. "Well, we do have that hour and a half drive. Might as well talk shop as anything else."

"_You could always talk about the hell hound."_

"You don't like Rhonwen. Besides, she's out in the forest terrorizing small pokemon. I told her she was on her own for dinner yesterday." Brenda scowled when he teleported down to the next level, and limped down the stairs after him. "Anyways, I like talking about work."

"_I can't imagine why."_

"It _is_ what I'm good at."

He had to grant her that point. And, well, considering he'd never even gone to Police College, he was doing an amazing job playing the police officer. He could just do better. That he wanted to do better was something he'd deal with on his own time.

"_Lecture away, Detective."_

She grinned. "Fun times. Okay, there are several types of killers. There's the crazed psycho who's either listening to the little voices in his head telling him yeah, it'd be a good idea to kill that fellow on the street corner. Or, other psycho, it's the 'if I can't have him, no one can' scenario. Either way, you're not likely to put the killer in jail, it's the padded cell and straight jacket."

"_I can't imagine there would be too many of those types,"_ Mewtwo said. He shoved open the door to the garage, without touching it. Brenda scowled and stomped through, muttering something about 'show offs' and knives. He pretended not to hear.

"They flock to celebrities, mostly. Anyways, other type of killer, that'd be the boyfriend or husband- or, hell, girlfriend or wife- who's either an abuser, or suspects their significant other of cheating, or… Well, you get the idea."

"_Mate killing."_

"You can put it that way. Anyways, then there's the muggers that'll kill, or rapists that kill, generally to keep their victims from talking. Then we have serial killers." Brenda paused long enough for them to get into the car and sort themselves out. Once they were settled in and heading out onto the road, she continued. "What we currently have is a serial killer, but a weird one. Most serial killers stalk their victims first- and they're generally adults. They'll have reasons for it. Uh, some famous killer, name escapes me at the moment, stalked, raped, and killed women who looked like his mother, who was a prostitute or abusive or something."

"_What a charming fellow,"_ Mewtwo muttered.

"Well, he's dead by a century now." Brenda signaled her turn, and merged into the highway traffic. "Anyways, what else…? Got any other questions?"

Mewtwo smirked. _"Actually, since you're in such a talkative mood…"_

Friday, August 7, 4:59 P.M.

Brenda parked behind one of the two cars, and grunted. "Alison's not here," she said. "So you can relax." She didn't wait for Mewtwo's reply, just got out of the car and headed for the Lance family door. It was painted a lurid shade of green, and it probably hadn't been touched up in a decade at least. She pounded on the door once, then shoved it open. Unlocked, as always.

"We're here!" she hollered, then turned to glare at her partner. "Well? Going to stand out there all day or what?" She nearly hauled her partner in, and headed straight for the living room.

Leon put down his newspaper, and smiled the two shuffled into the house. "Hey," he greeted, and pulled himself to his feet. "Sheryl's in the back. My turn to make supper, hope you like vegetarian lasagna."

"There in a tick," Sheryl yelled. "Make sure Leon doesn't let the lasagna burn, he claims that he's above setting the kitchen timer."

Mewtwo arched one eyebrow, resigned to a conversation with Leon. Brenda seemed to be edging towards the kitchen, and bolted just when he turned to look at her. Leon chuckled, and he frowned. _"Yes?"_ he asked.

"Don't mind Brenda, she likes cooking. So, I hear you're on the dead kids' case. Any suspects yet, that sort of thing?"

Brenda glanced at the kitchen door, and slipped down the hallway. The lasagna was fine. Leon wasn't half bad as a cook, and she couldn't smell anything burning anyways. Sheryl would be in her office, working on something or other. A few quick words, and then Brenda would be ready for family dinner. Mewtwo wouldn't be ready for family _anything_ for years.

She tapped on Sheryl's office door. "Hey, mom?" she asked, keeping her voice down. "Quick word?"

Sheryl finished typing in one last burst of keystrokes. "As many as you like, Bren," she said, half-distracted with her usual habits. That should do for the first draft of her paper. Sheryl was careful to safe the draft to her flash drive, check that the device lit green, and then tuck it into her pocket. It was only when she'd shut her laptop that she realized what Brenda had said.

Hopefully the sudden appearance of a "she called me mom" smile wouldn't scare her little girl off. "Is this something better discussed without menfolk around to gawk?"

"More like better Mewtwo's distracted," Brenda replied, entering the room and shutting the door. "Because it's about him. You know. He, ah, he's a clone. I don't know if he'll tell you and Leon, but if he does, could you... I mean, I know how Leon's going to react. And his reactions' good. Better then mine, I punched him in the mouth. Tried. Ah..." She stared, rather pleadingly, at Sheryl. "I don't think Mewtwo wants a shrink, you know? So, ah..."

"He's a clone?" Sheryl glanced towards the kitchen almost involuntarily. "You mean there's someone else like him?"

"I'm not sure," Brenda replied. "I don't think so. But, I think... not?"

"Genetic modification, clonal origins... I don't think I know any genetic counselors with the qualifications for this. There are a few psychologists who specialize in genetic matters, but he's exceptional. He's also not likely to trust a stranger with the details of his life." Sheryl frowned. "I can't be his therapist, as I'm already involved in his life, but I have enough training to be a listening ear." Her expression cleared as she thought it over. "It would be wonderful to have someone who wasn't neurotic schedule appointments with me."

"I'm not neurotic," Brenda muttered. "And I don't schedule appointments. Anyways, no, what I meant was... I mean, could you mother him? Because he never had anyone, I don't think."

"You don't need appointments, you're my daughter," Sheryl said. "Do you think he'd... He looked like he needed mothering the first time I saw him. I'll just have to ease him into it before he knows what I'm doing." It would be tricky, since he was an extremely good psychic, but Sheryl was fairly confident. She had managed with Brenda, after all.

"Yeah. So, that's just what I wanted to say. You don't mind?" Brenda picked at her pants, worrying at a loose thread. "That I'm basically asking you to adopt another kid?"

"Brenda." Sheryl laid her hand over her daughter's. "It's in my nature to mother people that need it, and you and your sister have had the sense to bring wonderful young men home with you to be mothered. Crack might need very little mothering, but he likes the little things that I fuss at him about." She stood, not as quickly as she once had. "Let's go make sure Leon hasn't found the dessert just yet, shall we? If he has the ambition to throw together the salad, he'll find it."

Brenda smirked, and followed after Sheryl. She'd have to have a similar talk with Leon, maybe. Then again, maybe not, Leon had a cop's instincts and Sheryl talked to him... Right. "He probably thinks I made the salad, I kind of headed in that direction."

Mewtwo shot a look that was positively desperate when the two women appeared. He had sat down, and rather uncomfortably talked about the case with Leon. And then, somehow, about building ships in bottles. While it was very impressive, it wasn't something he wanted knowledge of. _"Hello, Sheryl."_

"Hello, Mewtwo. I see that the kitchen hasn't burned down, but I don't know if that's due to your presence." Sheryl might let Leon live down a certain incident someday. Maybe. She grinned at her husband over Mewtwo's shoulder, expecting a protest. "The lasagna smells delicious, dear."

"Once," Leon complained. "Only the once, and you never let me forget it. And it wasn't the kitchen, it was a dishtowel." Leon took back his ship in a bottle before Mewtwo dropped it. "I think it's ready. Did you make a salad, Brenda?"

Brenda growled. "I thought you were taking care of the salad."

"I can take care of the salad," Sheryl interrupted. "Mewtwo, do you have any preferences for vegetables? Those two only seem to eat them under protest, so I don't bother giving them a vote."

_"Radishes?"_ he asked, choosing a vegetable at random. _"And beets?"_

"Vegetables," Brenda muttered, and Leon grunted agreement.

Sheryl only smiled. "They're horrible. If the vegetables are in my refrigerator, I like them."

Mewtwo nodded, and managed to get swept up in a mass migration to the kitchen. The fact that Brenda was dragging him along by the arm probably helped. Somehow he ended up in charge of the drinks.

Brenda set the table, and helped herself to salad and lasagna. Rather quickly, in her opinion, everyone had food on their plates and was munching away. And for vegetarian, it wasn't half bad. "Okay, quick talk about work, then something else. Please." She didn't want to talk about dead kids at the dinner table, or Leon's latest drug bust, or psychology.

"You're a homicide detective and your job's still depressing, Mewtwo's the same, Leon's the same, I'm a psychiatrist and nine in ten clients are completely neurotic," Sheryl said. "Will that suffice?"

"Works for me," Brenda said, and grinned. "Done anything stupid recently, Leon?"

Dishes at the Lance household were... interesting, Mewtwo decided. Leon and Brenda did the washing, due to a decided lack of working dishwasher. He glanced at the broken machine, and decided he knew what had happened. Brenda as a teenager, with steel toed boots and a temper, had probably kicked it. _"Are they supposed to be arguing like that?"_ he asked Sheryl, and gestured at the pair.

Sheryl tilted her head, listening to the sniping. Brenda was calling her father a wimp (again), and Leon was retaliating with an exhaustive list of all the (stupidly) brave things he had ever done. "You'll probably be done with them in about a minute. He'll mention his most famous cases, and she'll start pulling trump cards."

_"Trump cards?"_ Mewtwo asked, and took a step towards the door. _"Do I even want to know?"_

"That depends. How comfortable are you with menstruation and its paraphernalia?"

_"Leaving now,"_ Mewtwo muttered, and started walking away. He ran when Brenda yelled something about tampons.

He ended up in the back of the house, staring at three closed doors. One, he suspected, had to be the office Sheryl used, but the other two, he couldn't guess.

Sheryl bit her tongue, but she suspected that he heard her comment anyway. Psychic, after all, but she wouldn't traumatize him overmuch if she thought that tampons were just pieces of cotton attached to a string. "They'll be done in about ten minutes. She'll progress to periods in general and Ali's birth, but then he'll fire back with Ali's conception, and they'll be done. They have this fight every once in a while, just to amuse themselves."

_"They find that _amusing_?"_ Mewtwo asked, eyes wide. _"Are they insane? Never mind, I know the answer to that."_

Sheryl only raised a brow. "That leads nicely into my next question, actually. Brenda mentioned that you might want someone who will listen to any concerns you have about cases, origins... anything." She focused gently on Brenda asking her to talk to Mewtwo. "Nine in ten people I talk to are neurotic. If you'd like to be one of the few rational folk who talk through their issues..." She left the question open.

_"I'm fine,"_ he snapped. Mewtwo closed his eyes, and focused on his mental shielding. Of course Brenda would ask Sheryl... _"I don't want to talk about it. I don't like dead children and I don't like cloning and I don't think I really need to go over the reasons why, do you?"_

"I'm not a psychic, Mewtwo, I'm a psychologist," she said patiently. "If you change your mind, I'm easy to get in touch with. You can come to my office, stop by the house, we can go out to eat somewhere, but any idiot can tell this case would upset you. This idiot," she said, gesturing expansively towards herself, "has a doctorate in psychology."

He shook his head. _"Thanks for the offer, but no."_ He arched his eyebrow at the sound of a short, frustrated scream coming from the kitchen. _"Leon went over Alison's conception, I take it?"_ He edged to one side of the hallway, making room for Brenda.

"Can't blame me for trying," Sheryl said, not at all surprised. "Natural mothering instincts. Mothers are one thing, foster mothers are even worse."

Mewtwo frowned, ready to say something just as Brenda joined the small group. He glanced down, and fought against the urge to run away. That smile she was giving him was disturbing.

Brenda read Sheryl's expression with the ease of experience. "Hey, Mewtwo?" she asked, all the warning she gave the psychic. She reached up and hooked one hand around his first neck, using that to pull him down. "Go ahead, Sheryl."

Sheryl kissed him on the cheek, laughing. "Maybe next time you'll just hug me and save the spectacle," she teased. "You're quite tall, you know. You and Leon both."

Mewtwo made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and straightened up the moment Brenda let go of his neck. It wasn't that it'd hurt, but- his neck! She'd just- grabbed- hooked- his neck! _"As you say,"_ he said, and backed out of grabbing reach. _"Dinner was nice. Detective, shall we?"_

Brenda grinned, and gave Sheryl a hug. She'd already said goodbye to Leon. "I'll try to remember to call," she said. "Later."

"Don't make me break into your house again!"

**End Notes**

Quickly, before anyone reviews to point out that there are four dead clones… Technically, there are five. Four bodies, though, and four dead scientists. Unfortunately, the characters only know about three clones and three scientists. So, remember, we know more then the characters. Yay us.

Oh, and I have fanart! It's currently serving as my desktop image… http : (slash)(slash) big-sister (dot) deviantart (dot) com (slash) art (slash) Brenda-With-Coffee-of-Course-112040006

Yes. That's Brenda. Because I suck at doing proper description. (Seriously, if it were ME describing her… 'Dark skin. Black hair. Tall for a girl, skinny, cranky.')

Anyways, to end off this rather long author's note- yes, I know, more talking. I'm sorry there's nothing but talk! Next chapter though, Mewtwo's cranky and taking it out on the Shade dwellers, they finally find a clue and a suspect, and Four finds out where her sisters bodies are being kept. That can't end well.


	11. Not Allowed to Kill

No Time Left to Kill

Friday, August 7, 11:43 P.M.

Someday, Ben McClure was going to give up and put a cot in his office. There was only one thing stopping him from that logical course of action. If he put a bed in the office, he'd never remember to feed the long-suffering goldfish in his apartment's front room. They were only the cheapest kind of fish, sold to feed to aquatic pokemon, but his youngest sister would be devastated if he killed the things.

He glanced at the clock again. Rumor at the station had it that Detective Johnson worked all hours on big cases, so an 11:30 P.M. phone call shouldn't be a waste. Decided, he dialed the number for her cellular phone. She might not be in the office at this hour, but she was probably still awake.

Detective Johnson answered after the third ring. "Fuck are you what do you want?"

"It's Ben. Ben McClure. Your colleagues at the station were all sure that you would be awake at this hour, and my interns just sent a report through." Outside of his autopsy room, Detective Johnson still made him feel like a sixteen-year-old.

"Oh. Shit. Give me a second. Piece of paper, pen... Can you e-mail it?"

"Is your e-mail secure enough for confidential police files?"

"I meant my work e-mail, and it'll actually be Smith's, so yeah."

"Officer Smith isn't with you?" Ben asked, surprised. He had seen them apart, but thought he might be able to get advice from both of them. "Two of the interns had technical questions, but those are written into their report." He keyed in a password sequence to forward the document. "You should have the full list of names and suspected alliances in your inbox, now."

"Great. Is that everything?"

"Perhaps you and Officer Smith could stop by tomorrow? If you have any further questions, the interns will be thrilled to attempt to answer them."

"Oh joy, crazed lunatics who get off on sleep deprivation and coffee... Wait, that's cops... Whatever. Do you realize the fucking time? I'll haul Smith down around noon, that good?"

"That will be fine, detective." He made a note on his calendar. "Interns are the crazed lunatics who think that if they look very industrious and shiny, you'll be very impressed and give them an easy job. If you put the fear of authority back into them, the supervisor here will buy you a coffee."

"Bet I can have the toughest of them crying in five minutes, tops. Anything else comes up, call, wake me up, I don't care. Just, for the sake of the gods, could you not sound so chipper?"

He smiled wryly. "I shall endeavor. Good night, Detective Johnson."

Detective Johnson hung up without reply.

Ben hadn't expected her to say anything. He didn't know why the officers at her station complained so much. She, at least, was predictable. She would complain about cheerful people and threaten to make students cry, but she would answer the phone at quarter to midnight if it might be about a case.

He scanned his e-mail accounts for important messages, saved his report to the remote hard drive, and was in the process of shutting down his computer when he heard a quiet click. No one would be in the basement at this hour, except him. He was still getting used to the new station, and often left the office at midnight.

Ben McClure didn't turn in his chair until he heard a second click, this directly behind him. There was a young girl framed in the doorway of his office, dressed in a cream colored shirt and blue jeans, with pale blonde hair loose over her shoulders and pale, colorless eyes fixed on him. There was nothing like sanity in the clone-girl's gaze.

Friday, August 7, 11:49 P.M.

Four didn't like doctors. They were mean, split her up from her sisters. And one of them didn't make people feel better, he made her old-young sisters hurt. Doctors weren't supposed to make Four's sisters hurt and whimper and cry and curl up in corners. When the mean doctor did the bad thing, that's what happened. So she killed him. He'd had that rope around his neck anyways, and Three had laughed and laughed when Four told her about it afterwards.

This doctor, in his lab coat and wrinkly shirt, he was bad too. He took her sisters and locked them up in the dark forever and ever. That's what Three had told Four. Three was everywhere, watching from the shiny metal, whispering the doctor's secrets in Four's ears. This doctor cut up people. He was bad. He could open the door to the body-cutting-room, get Four's sisters. Then she could take them away and they could sleep in a nice park forever and ever and ever. But first she had to get through the door, and she couldn't just pull it open, so she needed the doctor. Three told her so.

"Hi," she said, and stared up at the doctor. "I'd like my sisters now, please." It was always better to be polite.

"I do not believe we have met," the doctor said slowly, his eyes wide. He didn't hold out his hand for her to shake, but he did stand up. "My name is Ben."

Four smiled, bright and pretty-girl like. "Hi Ben. I'm Four. You have my sisters. I'd like them back, please." She looked around the office, at all the images of Three, at the flat lights on the walls. She looked back at the Ben-doctor, and flexed her fingers. "Now? I'm kind of in a hurry."

"Your sisters have died, Miss Four." The coroner looked from the young girl's face to her thin fingers. It was entirely possible that she had snapped vertebral bones with those delicate hands. "Until the investigation is over, their bodies will remain in the protective custody of the police." He could hear the upstairs alarms wailing in the distance, now that he was paying attention. The last time the lab had done a drill, it had only taken police fifteen minutes to respond.

Four tilted her head. The Ben-doctor was looking at her hands. She held them up and wiggled her fingers. "Do you like them?" she asked. "I like them. Three had the same hands as me, but she can't use them any more. She got burned up, you know. Now she's in the mirrors." She gestured at one of the shiny metal things, and smiled at her sister. "Say hello, Three!"

_"Hello,"_ Three said, and smiled at the Ben-doctor.

Ben was standing with his back to his computer, only two feet from his desk phone. The girl was speaking to a reflection as if it would interact with them both.

He was a coroner. He was supposed to be kept far away from actual detective work, hidden in the basement with cadavers and clinical jargon and paperwork. Miss Four hadn't been told, however, so he would have to make do. He stepped closer to the mirror of his projector, and looked at it curiously. "I-- Hello, Miss Three. Has anyone else accompanied you, Miss Four?" He couldn't reach the phone. He didn't know how he would call dispatch with a smiling clone watching his every move, but he needed one more step.

Three narrowed her eyes. _"You're going to have to kill him,"_ she told Four. _"He knows you now. He knows our sisters now."_

Four tilted her head, thought hard. "Three doesn't like you," she informed the doctor. "You cut people up. Do you make people cry? I don't like that." She took a step closer to the doctor. Three mirrored her, frowning. "Did you make my sisters cry when you cut them up? I want them out. They don't like the dark."

"No one cried," Ben said, standing his ground. He did his level best to keep his voice level and reassuring. "This is my job, Miss Four. I want to know what happened to your sisters. Someone made you very sick."

"I know," she whispered. "The bad doctors did. They wanted to watch us die so they'd make more of us, healthier." She grinned, wide and feral and happy. "I killed them. Are you a bad doctor, Ben?" She took another step closer.

"No," he said, even as his heart rate skyrocketed. "Perhaps you can help me with something, Miss Four. Good doctors like to call their patients by name, but I have only met you and Miss Three." He gestured at the sketches lying out on one of his long metal tables, taking care to use a non-threatening motion.

"What do you want?" she asked, and stopped walking. She peered at the papers, and frowned. "What are those?"

"Portraits, of your sisters," he said. He took a small step back, and very slowly reached behind him with his right arm. He wouldn't be able to explain the situation to dispatch, but he knew the redial key by feel. Brenda had said to call if there was a break in the case.

"Can I see them?" she asked, and blinked in surprise. She hadn't sounded that young since she'd looked like One's age. That had been a long, long time ago. Nearly two years. Or was it three? She couldn't remember.

"Has it been a long time, since you've seen them?" he asked gently. He held his breath. The instant she made a response, for good or for bad, he would take the phone off the hook.

"I want to see the pictures." Four took several steps towards the desk, and looked up with narrowed eyes. "If you try to touch me I'll break your arms." She took the pictures, and stepped back to Three's nearest image. "Look, Three! There's Five, and Six, and Eight, and... Where's Seven?"

He set the phone very carefully on the desk as she spoke, and pressed two buttons: redial, and mute. He couldn't trust that Detective Johnson would wake quietly, but at least the conversation would catch her interest. "Seven?" Ben asked, staying back in the corner. "I have only met five sisters including you, Miss Four. I haven't seen Seven." He had no plans to try touching Four. Coroners needed their arms.

"Seven should be here," Four told him, feeling irritated. "I put her to sleep just yesterday. Her and that nasty doctor lady. She should be here. Why isn't she here? You've got all my other sisters. Are you finally leaving them alone? You should just leave us alone!" She threw the papers in the doctor's direction, ignoring how they fluttered to the floor. "Leave us alone! Let us sleep!"

"Perhaps she's on her way," Ben said quickly, realizing an error in his strategy. He was out of her way, but he had no room to move. "Perhaps we can discuss this, Miss Four? If your sister and the doctor lady are sleeping in the same location, they may not have been noticed yet." Johnson was probably listening to this conversation, and police responding to the alarms upstairs should sweep the entire building. If he kept her talking...

Four walked towards the Ben-doctor, no expression on her face. She wanted to break something. She wanted to _squish_ something. That was why Three was dead, after all. Three wasn't supposed to be dead but the doctors were all bad, and Ben was a doctor.

"_No one will care if you squish _him_,"_ Three whispered.

"We need him to open the door first, Three," Four replied. "Are you going to open the door?"

Ben could feel the telephone's faint whirring, some odd result of faulty circuitry that meant that his call was going through. "What would you do if I did open the door?"

"I'd take my sisters and I'd put them in a nice place to sleep." She wagged one finger at him. "You can't follow though. Do you need your legs?" She looked down at them with vague interest. "They don't look very pretty. Maybe you can get pretty legs if you got rid of these ones." If she ripped his legs off, did she have to kill him? She'd ask Three in a minute.

"You can't bury them until after the investigation is over. When criminal proceedings against the scientists are finished, I will be happy to release your sisters to your custody." Without the sisters, there was no case. There was a bizarre story and a large number of photographs and tissue samples.

"I don't want to bury them. I want them to sleep in a pretty place. Can't sleep in the dark." She took several steps closer. "What's that?" she asked, and pointed at the computer.

"I was working when you came in, on a few ways to track down the scientists," he said candidly. "That computer has enough information to put the scientists in jail for a long time. They'd hate jail." Ben backed up every file in his network every other day, but even losing one day's work could be devastating for any replacement coroner that might need to take up the case. He felt oddly calm as he watched the clone-girl draw nearer.

"Oh." She picked up the computer screen. "Is jail like being sent to your room for being bad?"

"Yes, but it will last for years and years. They won't be able to do any more science experiments even when they're allowed out of their jail rooms."

Four nodded, and carefully set the computer pieces on the floor. She even put down the phone. It was probably broken anyways, it was making weird little clicking sounds. "I think you need this thing fixed," she said, and gestured at the phone. "Now. I want my sisters." She narrowed her eyes. "You're going to open the door."

"You can't have your sisters yet." He didn't know why he was so calm. Maybe it was because he had been working with those little girls for seven days. "I would need to speak with a judge first."

"I can _make_ you give them to me," she replied, just as calmly. Still calm, listening to what Three told her to do, Four bent down and grabbed one of the desk legs. In one quick, smooth movement she'd lifted and flipped the heavy piece of wooden furniture. "You're going to open the door. You're going to give them to me." She started walking towards the Ben-doctor again. "You don't have a choice."

This girl, Ben decided, was absolutely crazy. "This would be an excellent time for the cavalry," Ben remarked loudly. "There's always a choice, Four. Your choice is to wait for a short time and to use the proper channels."

"What does TV have to do with it?" she asked, not threatening while she tried to figure it out. "I don't like commercials, but what does that have to do with my sisters? Do you have them on TV? Where's the TV?" She looked around the room. _"He's not talking about a TV," _Three hissed, and Four growled. "You're trying to trick me!"

"I'm not trying to trick you." His vocabulary was going to get him killed, he thought. "If you want to take your sisters away from here, you need to ask the judge for permission." It wasn't the usual protocol, but the case was hardly usual. Unless there was physical evidence of the cloned girls, the jury would never believe the prosecution's story.

"I don't have to ask anyone's permission!" Four took two big steps and shoved the doctor in the stomach. She grinned when he fell down. She hadn't used all her strength, just enough. She didn't want to break him just yet. "Now. Are you going to be nice and open the door now?"

"You don't need to ask permission. I do. Will you give me a week to get a decision from my boss?" That decision would likely be "no," but security would have plenty of time to be warned.

Four tilted her head. "I don't want to wait." She crouched down next to the doctor's head, and patted his cheek. "Now. Or I'll hurt you." Kill him. Three was right.

He really should have done some kind of sport in high school, he decided, or joined a gym while in college and medical school. There was absolutely no way he could move faster than she would. Ben glanced at the clock, and resolved to have a long talk with the local police department. Twelve minutes.

"You're not going to open the door?" Four bit her lip. "Okay. I'm sorry, but you could've done what I asked." She reached down, slowly so as not to startle him, and touched his neck. "This is going to hurt."

"_Wait!"_ Three hissed. _"Kill him _after_ you open the door."_

"I definitely won't open the door if you do that," he pointed out. Ben looked calm, though pale. Four hummed a little to herself. Three said to wait, and Ben had a point. The asleep couldn't open doors.

"You made my sisters cry," Four murmured, and looked at her other hand. Pale skin, four fingers and a thumb. He liked hands. "You won't open the door. You're keeping them in the dark. You're bad, just like the other doctors." She trailed her fingers down his neck, over his shoulder, down his arm, to his wrist. She picked up his hand and smiled. "Are you going to open the door for me?"

He wasn't a profiler, and didn't do any work with criminals when he could help it. He still understood that look in her eyes. No matter what he did, she hadn't ever planned for him to survive the night. "No." Breaking fingers or the bones of the hand was a methodical act typically paired with a great deal of antemortem damage, some small part of Ben's mind knew. That meant that he still had time before she killed him.

"Not even if I say please?" she asked, and gripped his little finger in one hand. With the other, she held firm to his wrist. He'd probably bruise. He had pale skin. Not as pale as hers, but the bruise would show up dark.

He had thought that his mind was completely detached from his body, but his breath still caught. "Still no."

She nodded, and looked up at Three. _"One at a time,"_ her sister told her. Three smiled pleasantly. _"Maybe he'll change his mind."_

"Maybe," Four replied. "Okay." She looked down at the Ben-doctor, and smiled. "Remember, you can always change your mind." She snapped the finger. She almost pulled it off, but remembered not to just in time. That'd be messy, and she only had the one set of clothing.

Four frowned. She'd expected more of a reaction. He'd gone white in the face, and tried to pull away, but he hadn't yelped or done anything. Maybe if she did it again? She touched the broken finger again, and nodded. A second time. And maybe a third. As many times as needed, to get him to open the door. People had a lot of bones.

She'd just snapped the second finger when she heard it. She jerked around, turning to stare over her shoulder at the room door. People were running down the stairs, yelling. She hated yelling. She looked back down at the Ben-doctor, and scowled. "The door can stay closed this time," she told him. There was an air vent just big enough in the hallway outside the door. She'd go through there.

Saturday, August 8, 12:00 A.M.

Brenda groaned into her pillow, and hit at her alarm clock. She knew the snooze button by feel, but even hitting it three times didn't make the ringing stop. She opened her eyes, and groaned again. Cell phone, that's what it was… Now, where'd she put it?

She managed to knock her bedside table lamp to the floor before she got her hand on her cell phone. She flipped it open, and winced at the brightness of the tiny screen compared to the pitch black darkness of her room. Blackout curtains were great, until you had to turn on a light suddenly.

"Hades?" she muttered, and after a bit of puzzling, managed to answer the call. "You are a sick bastard, you know that?" she asked.

_"What would you do if I did open the door?" _

It took her a moment. Hades wasn't talking to her- so who was he talking to?

_"I'd take my sisters and I'd put them in a nice place to sleep. You can't follow though. Do you need your legs?"_ A pause. _"They don't look very pretty. Maybe you can get pretty legs if you got rid of these ones."_

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, gathered under her arms. Oh, _shit._ Young female, sisters, talking to Hades in the morgue… Fucking _hell_.

Brenda shot out of bed and ran for the door, not even bothering to change out of her pajamas. Loose cotton pants and a sports bra weren't that bad, and oh gods if Hades got killed while she was listening… Oh gods, she had to hurry.

She did grab her shoes, though. Driving would be impossible without them.

She didn't listen too closely to the conversation on the other side of the phone. She was too busy starting her car, flipping on the sirens, and driving like all the demons of Hell were after her.

_"I think you need this thing fixed."_ Pause, the sound of something being put down gently. _"Now. I want my sisters. You're going to open the door."_

Brenda pressed the gas pedal to the metal. Midnight- far too many people on the streets, she was going way too fast for the corners she had to take, but she was a good driver. One of the best. And a cop with the sirens going could run red lights if it was their professional opinion that it was safe.

She didn't stop for anything.

_"This would be an excellent time for the cavalry."_ Hades, sounding calm, but there was fear there. She could hear it. _"There's always a choice, Four. Your choice is to wait for a short time and to use the proper channels."_

"I'm coming," she said, and nearly bounced her head off the steering wheel. She knew someone who could get to the morgue a lot faster then she could, why hadn't she called him first?

She was driving too fast to go one-handed, but what other choice did she have? She couldn't use her cell phone, no fucking way was she turning it off. Besides, did Mewtwo even have a phone? She fumbled for her car radio, listened to the All Points Bulletin before growling. Apparently someone had broken into the crime lab and morgue- but she knew that.

A few quick glances down at the dash, and a quick push of a button, and Brenda had her radio going directly to Mewtwo's. The gods knew what he did with it when they were working, but he kept it at his apartment, she'd seen it. "Smith!" she snapped.

She called his name several times, before a burst of static interrupted her. He was awake then, but probably couldn't talk over the radio. Stupid telepaths.

"Ben's in trouble, go to the morgue. Now!"

Another burst of static, and she turned her radio off. She'd slowed down a little while fussing with the radio, and now she sped up. She couldn't hear the cell phone over the pounding in hear ears; not words, anyways. As long as she could hear Hades' voice, though, he was alive. She just had to get there before his voice stopped.

The normally forty-five minute drive from her house to the morgue ended up being somewhere closer to twenty minutes. She'd probably broken every rule of the road getting there.

Brenda stomped on the brakes. Her car's front bumper ended up maybe an inch away from a patrol car's back bumper. So long as the two weren't touching, she didn't give a flying fuck. She could see Mewtwo working away, unrolling crime scene tape and securing it to knee high sticks jabbed into the ground. He noticed her at nearly the same moment, and nodded towards one of the police vehicles. She frowned, and headed over.

Dr. Ben McClure did not look healthy. He was seated half in, half out of the police cruiser, someone's uniform jacket draped over his shoulders. He was as white as a living human could go, eyes staring into nothing, cradling one hand in his lap. Brenda only needed to glance at his hand to know what was wrong. Broken fingers hurt like a bitch, and when you weren't used to pain... "Hades?" she called, approaching slowly. "Hey. You look like shit."

"Are the paramedics here yet?" he asked. "I believe I'll look better when I know the bones in my hand didn't fragment. I think they were clean breaks."

Brenda blinked, and crouched down at his feet. "Can I see your hand?" she asked. "I've had broken fingers before. I'll probably know how bad they are."

He gingerly uncovered his left hand. "The clone was kind enough to break fingers that aren't completely necessary for my work," he said, his voice a little clearer. "She didn't identify herself by name. She called herself Four, and gave the others numbers as well."

"I think the numbers must be their names," Brenda murmured, and carefully took his hand. She'd held a baby pidgey once before. She was even more careful with Ben's hand. "It doesn't look so bad. Some ice, some splints, you'll hardly even notice they're broken. I can take you to a doctor right now, if you want. No need to wait for paramedics."

"I don't think the other officers will notice. They're looking for Four. She left through the air vents." Before he went into work the next day, someone was going to check the cover on every last vent that led into the morgue while Ben watched. "She was going to kill me. She wanted her sisters' bodies so they could sleep in a better place, and then she was going to kill me for making them cry."

"Alright now." She stood up, wincing a little as her bad leg protested. One of these days she'd have to look up treatments for healed burns. "Come on. To my car." He was shocky, and his hand was cold. "We'll get you to a doctor. She's good, I trust her."

Brenda found she had to wrap one arm around Ben's shoulders, and guide him to her car. He didn't seem to notice anything below eye level. More then once she had to catch him when he stumbled. Classic shock signs. "Okay, hold on a second." He would go in the passenger seat. She got the door open, and Ben buckled in. "Just stay here, okay? We're going to go to the hospital now."

Mewtwo had seen her go over to Ben, he'd seen her guide him to her car. He was smart; he'd put two and two together and get four. She could go to the hospital, secure in the knowledge that someone would know that Ben was safe. She walked around the back of the car and got in the driver's side. Then she just had to take a minute to calm her breathing. "I was scared when you called," she said. "I thought I was going to hear you die."

His eyes were glassy, but he smiled weakly. "There was one point where I was thinking about the next coroner, and how I'd left a mess on the morgue counters."

"Well, thankfully you're the next coroner." She started the car, and turned up the heat. Not that she minded, but she normally kept it lowered for Mewtwo, who boiled in his fur. "So. Random question, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but do you have a girlfriend?" If he did, she'd call her. If not, then she'd ask another question.

"No, not since undergrad," he said. "I'll call my family tomorrow."

"Okay. What sort of family do you have? I mean, any brothers, sisters?"

"Parents, a brother, three sisters. All younger siblings," he said. "I'm not sure how quickly this will make the news, but they'll all be asleep by now."

"We can keep it quiet, if you want."

"She's... you heard most of it, right? If it will help your case, I don't care." He banished the image of his office from his mind anyway. Maybe he could just work out of his morgue for a while, or work directly from his supervisor's office for a couple days.

"Yeah. Sounded like a total nutbar to me. I think we'll keep it quiet. You don't need reporters harassing you."

"She was talking to mirrors, like they were other clones."

Brenda chewed her lip, and focused on the traffic. Getting into the hospital parking lot was a headache and a half. But once she'd run that gauntlet, she could reply, more or less with all her mind. "If one of the clones was like her identical twin, and dead, and she's insane, then it's reasonable to think that she thought the reflections were other clones."

Brenda sighed, and found a parking space. Obvious cop cars like hers got away with not paying the parking meter. She got out, got Ben out, and half carried him into the waiting room. No matter how painful, broken fingers didn't trump a car crash victim. She took him to the emergency ward, but didn't immediately call for a doctor. Instead, she sat him down in one of the chairs, told him not to move, and headed for the receptionist.

"Hi," she said. "I need to talk with Dr. Melanie Copeland as soon as she's available." She flashed her badge. "Alright?"

The receptionist nodded, wide eyed. Satisfied, Brenda headed back to Ben.

Ten minutes later, Melanie peered into the waiting room. She didn't recognize the man with Brenda. For a second, she thought that Mewtwo was using a new illusion, but then she noticed the angle of two broken fingers. Mewtwo's hands wouldn't bend that way, and she didn't think he would take the trouble of making two fingers appear broken.

"Brenda, you and your friend can come right back," she said. Melanie took a blank chart from the front desk. The pale man, whoever he was, was in a police jacket and with Brenda.

"Right," Brenda replied, and more or less manhandled Ben into standing and walking. "He's in shock," she explained. Any cop hearing her tone of voice would've keeled over. Brenda Johnson, sounding calm and comforting? Still, she _could_, and right now, she had to. "Near death experience and all."

"Do you know if there was any internal damage?" Melanie asked.

"No," Ben answered, still letting Brenda steer him through the hallway. "Just to the phalanges. I think they were clean breaks. Contusion to the abdomen, left side, but without sufficient force to cause any significant damage beyond hairline fractures to the inferior ribs."

Melanie looked from her patient to Brenda. "Where did you find him again?"

"Morgue. He's been working on a case of ours. The case got a little firm with him."

"Case, huh?" Melanie asked.

"Yeah. Dead little girls."

"Strength-augmented suspect, identical victims, big headache," Ben agreed as Melanie led them into a room. "How much of an ache should I expect for my hand tomorrow? Is there any way I can glove this?"

"I'm not sure what your pain tolerance is, but I can get you a script for some heavy-duty ibuprofen," Melanie said. "For gloves... talk to your supervisor at the morgue, I'm not sure what your BSE status is."

Brenda rolled her eyes. "Now that I've got him here, can I go? No offense, but I kind of want to talk to Smith and all the other officers. The gods only know what's going on over at the lab."

"If you'll make introductions first," Melanie said.

"Introductions?" Brenda asked blankly.

"Since you are the person here who knows both of us." Melanie scribbled a few notes on the chart. "I can take care of broken fingers, easy, and justify priority by saying this is a police matters. Names, however, do make my job easier."

"Oh. But I already know both of you," Brenda pointed out. "What do you need introductions for?"

Ben was too tired to be surprised. "It's polite to make introductions for the less well informed, then. Hi. Ben McClure, coroner."

"Melanie Copeland, not-quite-a-doctor." She finished marking the chart. "Brenda, tell - Vahan that he still owes me an appointment, please?" There was only a slight pause before she used Mewtwo's assumed name.

"Sure." Brenda glanced between the two doctors and shrugged. "I'll tell him. And in his infinite leisure time, he'll probably make one too. Now, I've got to go. You two have fun. Bond over fancy names for bones. Bye."

Saturday, August 8, 12:12 A.M.

Mewtwo flexed his fingers, and considered hitting two of the other cops securing the scene. They were stationed nearby, and from what he could pick up, spent their nights patrolling the streets in their car. Neither of them had ever seen a dead body before, or had to pull their weapon. Neither of them had excelled in high school; they had been the stereotypical 'jocks', but on the school soccer team instead of football. They were proud of the uniform and badge, and, he supposed, they did good work.

He also supposed it was rude to brush the edges of their minds the way he was doing, but, well, he couldn't quite help himself. They had called Dr. McClure a geek, and at that, his interest was pricked. He had turned his attention towards them, and had felt the fur along his spine bristle. Dr. McClure did not overreact; in fact, in Mewtwo's opinion, the doctor was far too emotionally controlled to be healthy. And while colloquial language wasn't Dr. McClure's strong point, he could converse well enough, he _wasn't_ a 'social retard'.

Mewtwo wondered if it was permissible to hurt fellow officers when they were being this stupid.

They were blaming the lab alarm on a system glitch. The lab security system was too expensive and too well maintained to have a simple malfunction- and where did the broken door come from, pixies? A vent cover in the morgue had been torn apart, and Dr. McClure's fingers had been broken. He hadn't gone into shock because of a surprise and an accident with the heavy morgue door; he'd gone into shock because someone had tried to kill him.

Mewtwo had managed to get that from the coroner, before the man had gone catatonic. All Mewtwo could think to do was get a jacket, because Dr. McClure had been shaking. He'd been called away to help with securing the scene, but he'd at least managed to keep an eye on the coroner, at least until Brenda had arrived and spirited the poor coroner away. To a hospital, hopefully, or to Melanie's apartment.

And these cops were talking about Dr. McClure like the man was an idiot, or a fool. It was infuriating.

What Mewtwo wanted to do was go over there and impress upon the two cops the facts of the matter, but he didn't quite dare. He was, compared to them, a very junior officer, his survival of Brenda's temper not withstanding. He would get written up for insubordination if he yelled at them.

All he _could_ do, reasonably, was what he was doing. Cordon off the area, keeping an eye out for signs someone had gone anywhere near the building. Not that there was much chance of that, but there was always the possibility. The other two weren't even bothering to be careful about where they put their feet, nor were they watching the ground.

Perhaps he could point that out to Brenda. Watching her scream at the fools should be satisfying enough.

This area of town, everything was concrete or brick. The ground was paved over, a few hardy bushes planted up against the lab building walls. The bushes were too small, and too scraggly, to hide a meowth, let alone a human, however.

Not much later, Brenda drove up, slightly slower then her first arrival. She got out, hiding a wince as she put her weight down on her bad leg, and started walking over to him, instead of to the officers who'd been first to the scene. Directly in defiance of normal procedure, but then, this was hardly normal.

"_Detective,"_ he said. _"Shouldn't you be talking to the first on scene?"_

"What can _they_ tell me?" she asked, voice rough from lack of sleep. Telepathic voices couldn't sound like that, thankfully. "What can _you_ tell me?"

The question shouldn't have been enough to make him feel proud of himself, but it was. _"When I arrived, the clone had already escaped through an air vent. Dr. McClure had been taken up to sit on the front steps, with everyone else in the building. There was only a skeleton staff, and they're currently going through the various labs to make sure nothing was tampered with."_

"And Hades?"

Mewtwo shook his head. _"Is he alright?"_

"Handed him off to Melanie. I think they're bonding over fancy names for fingers." For a moment, Brenda looked baffled, but she shrugged it off. "Anything else?"

He nodded in the direction of the two fools. _"You might want to talk to them. I overheard- they think the alarm was a glitch in the system, Dr. McClure must have broken his fingers in the door, and they're not even attempting to look for evidence."_

He didn't have to say anything else. Brenda scowled, and stalked over to the two cops, who were now just standing by their car talking. A foolish move, and a stupid one as well.

Mewtwo folded his arms and smirked, ready to watch the show.

He was too far back to fully appreciate the Detective's rant, but a deaf man could have heard what she was screaming about. Piss poor performance and a pathetic work ethic and incapable of using their brains… Writing them up for stupidity, how they might have destroyed evidence with their sloppy work… It did his heart good listening to it.

Then, of course, Brenda came back and informed him that he'd have to go left down King Street, looking for smashed mirrors or glass, but it wasn't nearly as galling as it could have been. She was going right down King, and the two idiots were splitting up, one to go up Weber, the other to go down.

If they didn't find anything in an hour, the men got to report back to their station. Mewtwo and Brenda got to go back to their beds.

He plodded down the street, watching for vandalism but not really seeing anything. It wasn't just that he was tired, because he was. This was the third night he'd been woken up in the middle of the night. And he hadn't slept very well the other nights either, tossing and turning as he tried to get comfortable, then half-waking a dozen times during the night.

It was just… This case was wearing at him. Clones. To quote Brenda, gods… Clones, actual human clones. The only thing worse would be Mew clones, because of what it would mean for him.

He stopped, and looked up, searching for the moon in the sky. It was a mere sliver, a crescent, hanging low over the rooftops. Cold and impersonal, he could find nothing in its scant illumination. Not even the knowledge that he was a shadow of Mew, as the moon was a shadow of the sun…

Except the moon _wasn't_ the shadow of the sun, any more then he was the shadow of Mew. He was himself.

Mewtwo shook his head and chuckled wearily to himself. Why did it take him so long to figure out something so simple? Well, no matter, the case would still hit him hard. But perhaps now he wouldn't take it nearly so personally.

He wouldn't bet on it, but he could hope, and he could work in that direction.

An hour later, though, all he could think about was going back to his apartment. Or perhaps to the Detective's home, to borrow her couch. He wouldn't have to worry about meaningless violence in her neighborhood. She would be too tired to threaten him until morning, and her neighbors were sane.

Only the thought that she was probably asleep, probably just as tired as he was if not more so, and the fact that she slept lighter then any wild pokemon, turned him towards the Shades. It would be cruel to wake Brenda up. If the case was hitting him hard due to the clone element, it was hitting her hard because these were human beings, who had been tortured and murdered and there was nothing she could do.

They both needed sleep. He could at least ensure he didn't wake her up.

At least maintaining his illusion was second nature, now. He was so exhausted he was stumbling a little, wavering like a drunk, but at least the humans that saw him would think him human.

He thought that a good thing, until he entered the unofficial boundary of the Shades. He woke up a little; anyone would, when one had the feeling of being, suddenly, hunted.

Other people might have been frightened. Normally, he might have been amused. At the moment, exhausted and with aching feet, all he could muster was annoyance.

And unfortunately for one young punk, he chose Mewtwo for an attempted mugging.

Mewtwo looked down at the idiot from his superior height, grinding his teeth. The punk was maybe fifteen years old, dark skinned, and waving a knife while yelling something about money. Mewtwo was completely out of patience already, and it had only been a few seconds.

"_Enough!"_ he snapped. The punk stuttered, falling silent, eyes wide. Mewtwo didn't wait for the punk to gather his senses, simply gestured- and the punk went flying, up onto the roof of one of the nearest buildings. Three stories high, and if the fire escape was anything other then rusty and in ill repair, Mewtwo would eat meat.

He glared around himself, and felt rather then saw the local 'hunters' pull back. Good. He lived here, he wanted to walk unmolested. It was a right, wasn't it? Maybe, when he had more energy and the case wasn't taking up every minute of his time, he'd start picking off the criminal element in this area.

Or maybe not. He didn't hold with vigilantism, and if he started, he could only imagine what Brenda would do to him. Something violent, probably.

He continued to muse on that particular train of thought all the way to his apartment door. Once he was inside, though, and the security set, all he could think of was his bed. He stumbled over, remembered to pull the window shade, and nearly fell onto the mattress. He was asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, and if he dreamed, he slept too deeply for it to matter.

**End Notes**

So, not only is it a long chapter, but things (other then conversations) have been happening. Are you happy?

Major kudos goes out to CalliopeMused, beta reader and writer of Ben McClure (yes, all those impossible to pronounce medical terms- she knows them!), Melanie (medical terms again), and Sheryl. She practically co-writes this series, y'know that? So, kudos to you, Calli.


	12. False Reality

False Reality

Sunday, August 9, 8:30 A.M.

The phone was ringing. Brenda cracked one eye open, and glared at it, or at least in the right direction. She grabbed at it, knocking something- a book, probably- to the floor. She pressed the 'on' button, and held it to her ear. "Hello?" If it was Hades calling again, she'd probably have a heart attack.

Or wake up without coffee again, whichever.

"I have to be at work in forty minutes. How soon can you pick up your coroner?" A female voice asked. "If you get here in under thirty, I'll give you coffee and breakfast."

It took Brenda a good ten seconds to place the voice. Melanie. Doctor. Saw Hades last night… Oh.

"Hades is at your place?" Brenda attempted to squint at the phone, and figured turning the light on would probably help. "He has a broken hand, Doc."

It wasn't quite audible when Melanie rolled her eyes. "Ben has two broken fingers, actually, and minor fractures to the ribs. There was no way I could justify keeping him at the hospital overnight, even for shock, and his address is listed right in the phone book. He borrowed my pull-out couch for the night."

"Oh." Brenda fumbled around, switching on her bedside lamp and getting out of bed. That made sense, she supposed. Why tempt fate by leaving Hades someplace Four could find him? "You said something about coffee?"

"Coffee. Fresh-ground, you'd have dibs on half the pot," the doctor said coaxingly. "All you need to do is get the coroner to work. If you'll look around the morgue for him, I'll give you an extra thermos to go."

"Five minutes and I'll be there. Gotta get Mewtwo first. Will there be meat at breakfast, or are we pandering to the vegetarian today?" She managed to find a pair of jeans that didn't look too bad- only one knee was ripped and there weren't any questionable stains. Better then pajama pants by far, even if they did look a little like the bottom half of a track suit.

"Meat's on the side, so carnivores can rejoice," Melanie said. "You do have time to look around the morgue a little? I don't know if Ben would ask you, but... It would make me feel better to think Mewtwo made sure Four wasn't in the area."

"I'll feel better if Mewtwo makes sure. That's one phone call I don't want ever again." Getting dressed while talking on the phone was tricky, but not impossible. And Brenda'd had practice at working with only one hand. "I just have to wake up Mewtwo, then we'll probably teleport to your driveway. With the car, even."

"It's easy to forget just how much power he has," Melanie said after a pause. "That does make me feel better. In that case, give me ten minutes and I'll have breakfast ready."

"Great. In ten." Brenda turned off the phone, and turned it right back on again. She dialed Mewtwo's number, rather thankful his apartment had come with a phone. Otherwise she'd have to use the police radio, and that was too much of a bother. Once she heard the 'click' and weird hissing sound that told her the phone had been picked up, she delivered her message.

"Melanie wants us to pick Ben up and will even feed us breakfast. Teleport over, would you?"

The phone 'clicked' a second time, obviously hung up, and then Rhonwen growled from the living room. Brenda grinned, and sauntered out.

"Morning," she said.

Mewtwo arched one eyebrow. _"Good morning, Detective. I didn't realize we'd been turned into a taxi service."_

"Funny. You're real witty this early in the morning, you know that? No, I just think we should check the lab and morgue for Four, in case she's still hanging around."

"_Of course."_

"You can teleport the car to Melanie's, right?"

"_Am I going to?"_

"If you want her to feed us breakfast, yeah."

Mewtwo rolled his eyes. _"Very well. Let's go, then."_

Melanie had said ten minutes; it'd maybe been one since the phone call, by the time Brenda was walking over to the doctor's front door. "Knock, knock," she muttered, and fit actions to words. "Hey! Melanie! Open up!"

"Brenda, I said ten minutes!" Melanie yelled from the kitchen. "Come in, but the coffee's going to be at least three more minutes."

"Hey, we're fast." Brenda grinned at Mewtwo, and nodded towards the bathroom, where she could hear water running. Even as she'd done so, the water turned off. "Melanie says Hades took the pull out couch. What do you think, Smith?"

_"I think you're an incurable gossip. Detective."_ Mewtwo didn't put up his illusion yet, but he'd know when to better then she would.

Melanie didn't turn away from the stove, but did look thoughtfully at the bacon in the pan. "I do believe I heard Brenda say she'd like to avoid the meat this morning. How nice to know she's watching her saturated fat intake, there'll be more for me."

"Hey!" Brenda swung a punch at Mewtwo when he chuckled, not at all bothered when she missed. "Fuck _that_, I like meat. Come on, people get on my case about being social all the damn time, then when I do that, they freak at me. Make up your mind! Do you want me grumpy?"

"If anything had gone on, do you think I would have invited you over for breakfast?" Melanie asked. "Give me some credit, Brenda." She glanced at the coffeepot. "You can pour yourself a cup, if you like. The mugs are over the sink. If you'd like anything different, Mewtwo, I have juice in the fridge and tea next to the coffee machine."

Mewtwo arrowed straight for the fridge, the freak. Passing up caffeine like that. Brenda grabbed two mugs, and poured Melanie a cup. "Here. Thanks for breakfast. How freaked is Hades, do you think?"

"So far, he's only had rational ideas about when to be nervous. His address is publicly listed, so he didn't want to go there last night. He'd rather not start work until you two can tell him Four isn't hiding somewhere in the morgue." She flipped the omelet in the pan. "And no problem about the breakfast. It's nice to have a reason to cook."

_"You don't cook for yourself?"_ Mewtwo, for lack of options, grabbed a coffee mug for his orange juice. Brenda smirked at him; he ignored her.

"The new rules say that residents can only work eighty hours of the week, and of course the hospital wouldn't dream of breaking regulations." Melanie's expression belied her words. "I'm also only supposed to work thirty-six hour shifts. Cooking doesn't happen all that often."

"Oh." Brenda frowned. "I could maybe talk to someone official? Cop official, who could talk to hospital official?"

"Thanks for the offer, Brenda, but every hospital's the same. If I'd actually stayed on schedule, I would have had my ten hour rest period." She had been five minutes from done when the receptionist said that Brenda Johnson was there to see her, and two broken fingers were easily mended. Broken ribs were even easier. "It's our way of proving that we can handle the life."

"Sounds stupid. Then again..." Brenda tilted her head as she thought. "The cadet way of proving they can handle the life is getting up at freaking four in the morning, working until midnight, then getting up to do it all over again."

"Doctors just do it in lab coats, and they don't let us have guns," Melanie said, turning off the heat on the stove. "I don't anticipate any problems at the lab, but I can write up whatever paperwork Ben needs for special provisions."

"What's taking him so long anyways?" Brenda asked. She arched an eyebrow at Mewtwo, who had his illusion up. "He eavesdropping on us or something?"

"He can't use his left hand, at the moment," Melanie said. "I'd imagine that would be part of it."

_"Detective, don't start."_ Mewtwo shook his head, and looked over at Melanie. _"She's thinking about broken limbs, and I think they might have been hers. Distract her, please?"_

"Help me set the table?" Melanie asked. She pulled open cabinet doors and the silverware drawer. "Don't get me distracted, either, Vahan," she said. "Thank you for being conscious this visit." She had heard the bathroom door open, and guessed that 'Vahan' would fit his illusion better.

Brenda frowned at Mewtwo. "Hey, I'm _not_ thinking about _my_ broken bones. I've only ever had one... Two... Melanie, how many bones are in the forearm? The long ones." She half turned, keeping an eye on the kitchen door, and relaxed when she saw a flicker of blue. Enter Hades.

Hades was looking a little less put together then she would have liked. He was still pale, though not deathly pale any more. His last three fingers had been splinted together. His hair was damp and stood up in spikes; Brenda had to shove her free hand in her jeans pocket to keep herself from neatening it for him. "Morning, Hades. Going to share some orange juice with the wimp?"

"Two bones in the forearm," Ben answered for Melanie. He held out the splinted hand without prompting, and the doctor examined it briefly. "I'll have a cup of coffee first, detective." He guessed that 'the wimp' was Officer Smith, but couldn't imagine why.

"Much better," Melanie pronounced after looking closely at the broken fingers. "Simple breaks, they should heal nicely. If over-the-counter painkillers won't help, I'll set you up with something stronger."

"Then I've only broken two bones," Brenda said. She peered around Hades' shoulder to look at his hand. "Hey, cool. Metal splints. The ones I've had have always been wood."

"Metal's much better for fingers," Melanie said. "It's especially useful when certain patients will go off and use the hand for delicate tasks the next day," she said without any heat. She plated the scrambled eggs and bacon, and carried them over to the table. "I thought we were going to talk about something besides your old injuries, Brenda. All the stories I know are protected by doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Hey!" Brenda turned and shot a glare at Mewtwo when he chuckled. "It's only confidential if I say it is. Anyways. Ben, Smith and I are on babysitting duty until you're feeling better, m'kay?"

Ben didn't quite stare at his plate, but he didn't meet her eyes. "I can still do my job," he protested. He had hoped they would come for their appointment early, to make sure that no one else was there. He didn't need people following him when there was work to be done.

Mewtwo sat down, half turning the chair so his tail- currently hidden to the humans- wouldn't get crushed against the chair back. _"What the Detective means is we can check the lab and morgue for any visitors, and there may be several things I can do as a psychic. I still need to think on that, though, so I'm making no promises."_

"Think fast," Brenda muttered, before forking up some eggs. "Hey, these are good!"

Ben shrugged his right shoulder. He hadn't expected tact from Detective Johnson, but it did make him wonder what the reaction at work would be. Most of the cops at the scene had been sure he had confused a clone with a heavy door slamming on his fingers. "If it's not too much trouble. I don't think she'd be hard to find, for a psychic." He could mention details on the ride to the morgue.

"Woman of many talents, what can I say?" Melanie was eating rapidly, and could only increase her speed by neglecting table manners. "Pity that one of them isn't finding missing clones, but I leave the psychic business to Vahan. He's good, Ben."

Mewtwo narrowed his eyes. _"Finding a pokemon mind, particularly the one I searched for before- quiet, please, Detective- is easier then searching for a human mind, even an insane human mind, in a city of humans. The pokemon happened to be a psychic as well, making it even easier."_

"One of its bodies, anyways," Brenda said. She tapped her fork against her plate. "So you can't find Four. Damn."

_"If I'd been able to, I would have done it before now."_

"What would you need to know?" Ben asked. If they were willing to say that much in front of Melanie... he was curious.

Brenda shrugged. Mewtwo's mouth was full, and unless he wanted to reveal his telepathic ability- apparently not, since he hadn't started talking- it was up to her. At least she knew a little bit about psychics.

"Looking for a human in a city of humans would be a little bit like looking for a mareep in a field of mareep, right Smith?" She looked over, and waited for Mewtwo's nod before continuing. "And hey, lots of insane people in a city, so that further muddies the water. It'd probably take a month or three to find Four psychically."

_"Longer,"_ Mewtwo said. _"Much, much longer."_

Melanie frowned. Her guest had been in shock the previous night, but she had kept him talking on the way back to her apartment. Ben had finished a full cup of coffee, and was working on a glass of orange juice, but he was barely eating. "What about finding people that are looking for you?" Melanie asked.

_"Again, not very easily. If they were psychic, they would be like... Oh, imagine all the human minds in the city as fireflies at dusk. You can see them, but there's enough ambient light to make it difficult. Some of the fireflies are brighter then others- those are the psychics. Some of them are blinking at a different rate. The closer you are to the fireflies, the easier it is to see them."_

Mewtwo paused, though he didn't have to stop talking in order to eat. Then again, he wanted to gather his thoughts, make sure he didn't confuse anyone.

_"Someone that's looking for you is going to be 'closer' then someone that isn't, but there are still so many people nearby that it's practically useless. Unless the 'firefly' is completely different from the others- glowing neon green, for instance- then it's nearly impossible to do a psychic search for one specific person."_

"Unless you're working with a population of under a hundred," Brenda added.

Mewtwo nodded. _"What I _can_ do is set up an... I guess it would be called an 'alert system'? I'm not sure- I know what it is, I just don't know how to explain it."_

"What does your alert system let you do?" Melanie asked.

Mewtwo shrugged. _"I won't be able to pick up thoughts- unless you're 'yelling' them. The Detective does that all the time, I generally ignore that sort of thing now."_ He moved his leg out of the way of her kick, and continued. _"Essentially- if you're in danger, I would know, and I would know where you were and could teleport there."_

"That might be useful for a case like this, if neither of you would mind," she said. "It'd make me feel better. I have enough to worry about with Brenda, now that she's seen how shiny the finger splints are." Melanie collected empty serving platters and her dishes. "Last call for juice, toast, apples for the road... I need to head into work in about four minutes."

Brenda muttered at her plate. "It's not like I _want_ to get hurt, it just happens... Melanie?" She tilted her head, thinking. "No offence or anything, but I think I'm going to walk you to your car."

_"Putting in an 'alert' will only take a minute, besides,"_ Mewtwo put in. _"Though it's helpful if you can put yourself in a trance. Otherwise, I'll have to do that for you, and it will be two minutes."_

"I've been halfway there all morning, I think," Ben said. "It shouldn't be any trouble. Thank you for breakfast, Melanie, and for letting me stay over."

"Uh, Smith? Give Melanie an alert too." Brenda lifted her chin. "Maybe I'm just the paranoid cop here, but Four's crazy, right? Crazy people do crazy things."

"It was my pleasure, believe me. Cases involving Brenda tend to wind up in my apartment, and at least this time it was on my terms," Melanie said. "I doubt Four would recognize me, Brenda."

"She doesn't like doctors," Ben said. "If Officer Smith wouldn't mind... Four hates doctors, even if you haven't had direct contact with one of the clones."

"Right," Brenda said. "Be tough finding another doctor who can find her own ass." She flicked her eyes towards Mewtwo, and shrugged. "Up to you, really. Smith?"

Mewtwo rolled his eyes, and shoved away his plate. _"Easily. Doctor?"_

Melanie sat at the table again. She didn't think it was necessary, but would rather have an extra precaution. "In a moment." Twenty seconds later, she'd slipped into the light receptive trance doctors learned for diagnosing psychic illnesses.

It was easy to work with an organized mind like Melanie's, as compared to, say, Brenda's. The difference was nearly horrifying; Melanie had a proper mental shield, keeping out minor psychics and empaths. For a psychic of his caliber, it was child's play slipping past the shield, and setting up the deep level alert. Only he would be able to hear the 'alarm', and only he would be able to find her with it. In only a minute, he'd left her mind, and relaxed.

_"Alright, it's done."_

Melanie opened her eyes, blinked, then grinned. "That does make me feel better, but I need to go to work. Lock the front door behind you, please?" He was an incredibly powerful psychic, but she was more impressed by his control. She had only noticed the alarm because he had let her.

"Sure," Brenda replied. "Can you do that, Smith?"

Mewtwo arched one eyebrow. _"Do you still want a door, Melanie?"_

Brenda rolled her eyes before the doctor could reply. "Never mind, I'll break out my lock picks... what?"

"It's a dead bolt. You just pull at the door handle after you've left to be sure that it's caught," Melanie said, amused. She glanced at Ben, who was fully into a trance. "Call me if either of those fingers looks the least bit off will you?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's make sure you get to your car safely." Brenda pushed away from the table, and stepped up into proper guard position; to the right and a little behind Melanie, so she could pull her gun and shoot safely.

Mewtwo ignored their leaving, and turned his attention to Ben. _"Alright then. Shall we begin?"_

Mewtwo smirked to himself, and went to work. Ben was the same as Melanie; an organized mind, well protected by a mental shield, though the shield hadn't been lowered. It was easy to bypass the shield and get to work laying in the alert, and he was done in nearly the same amount of time as he'd taken with Melanie, perhaps a little more. _"Alright,"_ he said, pulling away from Ben's mind. _"I'm done."_

Done, and with a few scattered images he'd picked up. He would deal with them later. For now, he had a coroner to get to the morgue, and a morgue to inspect for intruding clones.

Ben stood, bracing himself with his right hand. "Thank you. You and Detective Johnson needn't stay with me any longer than you had planned, Officer Smith, I am quite capable of finishing the work planned for today."

_"That's fine, but I think we'll all feel better making sure Four isn't still in the vents."_ Mewtwo stood up, and walked with Ben to the door. _"Besides, the Detective will insist."_

"Damn straight," Brenda said. "Don't know what I'll insist on, but I damn well will."

"I don't need a keeper."

"No, you need guards. Who was it that got a broken hand, again?" Brenda opened her car's back door, and waited. "In, Hades."

"I wouldn't call it a broken hand without damage to the metacarpals, actually."

"Stop dithering."

_"Dithering, Detective?"_

"I can hurt you, you know."

"It's not dithering, it's accepted terminology among coroners. I am quibbling, but that's different."

"In!" She eyed him, pleased that the vacant look in his eyes was gone. About damn time.

Brenda nearly slammed the door, and got into the driver's seat. She waited for everyone to be at least sitting before backing out of the driveway. Mewtwo hissed, and fumbled at his seatbelt. "Shut up, I'm trying to drive. Hades, why the fuck were your fingers broken anyways? I was kind of having difficulties hearing after a certain point, my sirens were on."

"I'll guess that you don't want to know about the physics."

_"Ben, this is the Detective. The fewer scientific facts, the happier she'll be."_ Mewtwo smirked. _"She missed her time, don't you think? She'd have made a great Neanderthal."_

Considering the driving thing, Brenda thought it would be a bad idea to strangle her partner. Maybe at the next stop. She glanced back in the rearview mirror, and bit her lip. Yeah, there was a reason people said she had no social skills. Hades was almost back to looking the way he had last night, all vacant and confused. Mewtwo had the right idea. She really shouldn't try talking to people who weren't used to near death experiences.

Sunday, August 9, 10:50 A.M.

After a visit to the morgue, Brenda needed one thing, and that was coffee. After tramping around more of the lab then she really wanted to see, she needed coffee desperately. So, quick stop at the local Tim Horton's before heading off to do her job. It worked.

She paid for her coffee, and headed out of the coffee shop. Mewtwo was waiting in the car, working on a laptop he'd conned out of someone in Requisitions. He wasn't even using it for work, she didn't think. He'd mentioned something about checking the police station's 'firewall', whatever the fuck that was. Probably something illegal, but so long as he wasn't caught, who was she to care?

She walked out, sipping at her coffee. A quick snarl and glare at Mewtwo stopped any computer based ramblings, so she was able to sit in peace. Peace lasted about five minutes, when she ran out of coffee.

"Alright," Brenda growled. "Time to get to work."

Mewtwo made a sound of agreement, still busy on the computer.

Brenda sighed, and did her best to concentrate on driving, but it wasn't easy. She was used to sniping with him, and now he was ignoring her, and damn it, she'd never wanted a partner anyways.

"You must've gotten some sleep, you're actually working," she said, and nearly groaned. Why'd she have to be the one to break the silence?

Mewtwo looked up, and shut the computer off. _"I suppose I did. Or perhaps it's because we're not going to a crime scene? Without a sense of urgency, I have time to actually do things."_

"Just- look, I don't want to hear any more about whatever you're doing on the computer."

"_You hate anything technological."_ Mewtwo looked out the window, probably to hide a smile.

Brenda bared her teeth. "No, everything technological just hates me. For fuck's sake, how hard is it to program a VCR? Alison's shown me three times, and I _still_ can't do it."

His chuckle should have been annoying, but it wasn't. She decided it was progress, and focused on her driving. The new car was a bit more responsive then her old one, and a hell of a lot more powerful. Until she was more used to it, she'd actually have to pay attention to what she was doing.

At least, that was what she was going to claim, in case Mewtwo or Hades asked why she'd been silent earlier that morning.

"_Perhaps you have a disease,"_ Mewtwo said.

"I hate you. In fact, I hate all technologically adept people. Okay? Fuck you all."

"_I don't think you have the time."_

"I can invite Alison over, you know. Any time I want. So shut up."

"_Certainly, Detective."_

"That counts as talking."

Mewtwo chuckled again, and Brenda grinned. She sobered pretty fast, though. Elizabeth Taylor still wasn't returning her calls, and it was high time they pulled the scientist in to interview. That would probably be a headache and a half. The bitch would probably lawyer up before getting read the Revised Miranda.

"Why'd you didn't offer me a psychic alert?"

"_Detective?"_ Mewtwo looked over again, and arched an eyebrow. _"Don't tell me you want one."_

Brenda snorted. "Please. But still."

"_One, it's not necessary. We're together nearly all of the time, and you're certainly capable of handling most dangers on your own. Two, you wouldn't let me even if I did offer. Three, with your mental shields broken the way they are, if you _did _get into trouble you couldn't handle, all you would have to do is think my name very loudly… Well, you've done that before."_

"I have?" Brenda asked, then mentally hit herself. "Of course I have. When we met, and when you were on that rampage. Why didn't I do that last night?"

"_I have no idea."_ Mewtwo shifted a little, so he wasn't leaning back on his tail, and sighed. _"It's a pity I can't transform, the way my… parent… can."_

"That'd be Mew?"

"_Yes."_

Brenda shook her head. "Remember, Islanders hate Mew. The less you're like him, the better. Think that's Taylor's house?"

"_It's the right number. Why do Islanders hate Mew, again?"_

"I can lend you the book. The Trickster, by Ryan March. He nearly got scalped five times just compiling the stories." Brenda turned the car into the driveway, and then turned it off. "Okay, let's go. She's probably going to be very, very pissy."

"_Not at work?"_

Brenda looked over as she got out of the car. "I think she's keeping work with her."

Mewtwo's illusion looked grim. _"You think Taylor has a clone with her."_

"Michael Dekker did," she pointed out. "Let's go ruin her day."

The house was typical for the suburban area; cream colored bricks on the first floor, tan colored siding for the second. Two garage doors; a large, white painted front door, the majority of it taken up by a stained glass window; only two windows in the front, one over each garage door.

Brenda took point, moving to knock on the front door before she saw it. She frowned, and crouched a little, ignoring how her knee ached when she did. The door handle was… warped. It was supposed to be a fancy latch type handle, but the top part…

"I think someone's broken in," she said. "Someone strong enough to bend metal out of shape." She pulled her sleeve down over her hand, and depressed the latch. "And break the lock."

The door swung open under her light push, and Mewtwo sniffed at the air.

"_I don't think we'll be pulling Taylor into interview today,"_ he said. _"I smell blood."_

"Well, shit." Brenda looked back at her car. "Stay here, I'm going to call it in, and get my crime scene kit."

"_Crime scene kit?"_ Mewtwo asked, but she ignored him. He'd see it in a few minutes.

She half sat in the front seat, and turned on the radio. "Dispatch, this is Johnson."

"_Acknowledged, Johnson. This is dispatch."_

"Got a possible dead body, certain break in." She rattled off the address, then took a deep breath. "My partner and I are going to enter the house, in case… Well, just in case."

"_It's your ass, Johnson. Sending a second car over, radio back if it's a homicide."_

"Sure." Brenda took a deep breath and turned off the radio. Sometimes, the informality of Viridian City's dispatch was annoying. Right now, it wasn't. She hated entering other people's homes.

She got out, got her crime scene kit out of the trunk. Latex gloves, booties for her shoes, a few other things she always found useful. Every homicide cop ended up carrying a kit like this, though what was in them sometimes varied.

"Make your illusion wear gloves and booties like mine," she said, and pulled out the mentioned items, pulled them on. Mewtwo eyed the kit with interest, and made the adjustments to his illusion.

"_Is that a tool kit?"_ he asked.

"The box, anyways. Come on, let's go risk our necks." Brenda left her kit just outside the door, and stepped into the house. "Ms. Taylor? This is the police. Your door's been broken open. Are you here?"

No answer. Brenda looked over at Mewtwo. He nodded towards the stairs, and she sighed.

"Second floor it is."

She pulled her gun, standard procedure, and ignored how her stomach was doing flip flops. She hated this, walking through the house, straining her hearing for any sound. Was that creak the home owner walking towards them? The refrigerator turned on suddenly, and she jumped, only just keeping from shooting herself in the foot.

"_Detective?"_

"Don't," she muttered, and then sniffed. She still couldn't smell anything, no rotting bodies or anything. Which didn't mean shit, but she had to try.

Mewtwo gestured towards the hall, to their right, and she led the way. It was probably pointless, Mewtwo was a hell of a lot more dangerous then she was, but she was the senior officer- and she wanted him at her back. She'd feel a lot less jumpy so long as she knew who was behind her.

There were three doors off the hall. The first led to what looked like Taylor's bedroom, all pale colors and frills. Girly, and empty of anyone, living or dead. The second door was a bathroom, also empty, with a door to Taylor's bedroom.

The third door, at the end of the hall, was closed. Brenda eased it open, and took a deep breath.

"Well," she muttered, and shook her head. "I'm going to have to contact dispatch again, we've got… something."

"_Someone will also have to search nearby parks,"_ Mewtwo said.

"No shit. Let's get out of here, this place is giving me the creeps."

Sunday, August 9, 11:15 A.M.

Taylor had been stuffed in the large, practically industrial freezer in the garage, right after someone had cleaned it out. Mewtwo hadn't smelt any rotting meat, because it had only been two or three days; the meat wasn't yet that bad. A little off color, certainly nothing no one would want to eat, but there weren't any insects, and it was all still wrapped in plastic or paper, depending.

"Can't have been that long," Brenda muttered. "We saw her two days ago." She leaned a little closer to the body, nearly crawling into the freezer herself. "She's frozen, not solid, but damn if the frost isn't two centimeters thick."

"_I'm surprised,"_ Mewtwo said. _"She almost looks like she's asleep."_

"Except for the ice. Alright. If you can get her out, you can bag and transport." Brenda waved at the ET's, nearly grinning as they sighed. "Watch out for the unfrozen goods."

Mewtwo walked towards the door into the house, looking back as Brenda followed. _"You seem calmer."_

"I hate empty houses," she replied.

He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he didn't. _"What next?"_

"I want to take a second look at that bedroom before Crime Scene gets at it."

Mewtwo nodded, and trailed after her to the back of the house. The bedroom in question wasn't quite as bad as some crime scenes. There was blood on the floor, just inside the doorway, and the bedcovers were mused. The worst part about it was the smashed mirror, and the knowledge that there had been a clone here. Now there wasn't.

Brenda stepped over the blood stain, and started examining the room. Mewtwo studied it from the doorway, if only because he didn't want to knock anything over with his tail.

The room was small, the walls painted a cheerful yellow, with floral wallpaper covering the top foot of the walls. The bedspread matched the wallpaper; the pillows and sheets, the walls. There was a lot of open space, and no chair at the desk.

"Huh," Brenda said, and gestured at something in the closet, something Mewtwo couldn't see. "Wheelchair. Guess this clone had problems with her legs or something."

"_Explains the lack of things on the floor."_ Everything was up on shelves, or on the desk or nightstand. There were glass shards and the remains of the mirror, but that was obviously a new addition.

Brenda nodded, and folded her arms. "Looks like a typical teenage girl's room. Except the wheelchair, that's busted."

Mewtwo was about to reply, but was interrupted.

"Officer? Detective?"

He turned around, and Brenda moved to peer around him. They both arched their eyebrows at the uniformed officer standing at attention in the hallway.

"Yes?" Brenda asked.

"We found the girl, sir. In Greenwich Park, just two blocks over." The officer shook his head.

"Right." Brenda looked up at Mewtwo. "Let's see this, then get her to Hades. I'm getting sick of this."

"_So am I."_ Mewtwo narrowed his eyes in thought. If they found Four, they would stop the murders. And if they found the scientists, they could stop the whole project. _"Let's make sure we don't find any more, then."_

"Your lips to the gods' ears."

**End Notes**

Aeris, keep reading to the Epilogue. You'll get yours for your contribution to this story. And before you say I'm coming up with something to apease you, it's something I've been considering since we first started talking about it. It's just firmed up and given a name now. Or, two names and a doctorate.

So, the problem with giving chapter titles according to song lyrics is you quickly run out of what fits the best. Obviously, this means I have to finish the story up before I start repeating myself.


	13. Destroyed

Destroyed

Sunday, August 9, 1:02 P.M.

Mewtwo sat down at his desk. Brenda stood by his chair, trying to lean against his chair without actually touching anything. It wasn't working, and she kept bumping her hip against the chair back.

"_Stop that,"_ he said, opening the station e-mail. Brenda didn't know how he did it; she couldn't get the thing to work half the time. _"I'm trying to concentrate."_

"And I'm trying not to vomit, so piss off."

She was, too. Four could definitely be blamed for the homeless guy in the park. It was her handiwork- fast, brutal, and messy. Well, her handiwork when not involving the other human clones. The homeless man had been ripped limb from limb.

Literally.

The mind tended to boggle at some things. A table that was probably close to two or three hundred pounds, flipped over and five feet from where it was supposed to be. A human, arms and legs ripped off, the blood pooling on the ground, flies swarming the remains. The idea that the cause of it all was a little girl like the dead clones was… Well, it was hard to believe.

Mewtwo sighed, and gestured at the computer screen. _"Well, here we are. Do you want me to narrow it down?"_

"Yeah, do that." Brenda peered closer, one hand on Mewtwo's shoulder for balance. "What's…? Okay, that's a list of publications, right?"

"_Detective."_ Mewtwo's look was an irritated warning. _"Go sit over at your desk. Five minutes."_

"You read quick."

"_Go."_

"Going, going. Jeez." Brenda raised her hands and backed over to her desk. Some people could be so cranky. Once at her desk, she glanced at her watch, and muttered a curse. So she had about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, for bastard hunting. After that, she had an appointment to keep.

The five minutes dragged. It wasn't long enough to work on any of the paperwork she had to do, but it wasn't short enough for her to feel comfortable just sitting doing nothing. Mewtwo did come over, though, just when she was starting to think about getting up and pacing.

"Well?" she asked.

"_Dr. McClure's wage slaves managed to dig up five names, as well as put down how likely each person was involved."_ Mewtwo glanced down at a piece of paper he was holding- a blank piece, she was just able to see. Show off. _"Jacob Anderson, pediatrician. He was ranked as most likely to be involved, and he's published in several journals about the potentials for cloning- though he's kept his theorizing to cloning organs, not people."_

Brenda rolled her eyes heavenward. "This is why I watch the Discovery Channel," she said. "Cloning organs from a person, no chance for rejection, and hey, organs, so there's no debate about morality. Not like an organ can think, right?"

"_Precisely, but he's also connected to our four dead scientists. Co-written at least one paper with each of them."_

"I take it that's unusual."

"_Enough that one of the interns made a very specific note about it. Our four dead didn't have similar degrees, and a pediatrician co-writing with them?"_

"About cloning… Still." Brenda nodded. "Okay, next?"

"_Jose Rodriquez, bio-engineer, worked with Dekker on several projects- gene splicing."_

"Like those weird miltank with the spider silk in the milk? Fun."

Mewtwo nodded, and continued. _"Lillian King and Ashley Martin, both of them worked with Taylor at one point or another, both of them wrote papers encouraging experiments in human cloning."_ He frowned, and glared at Brenda's coffee mug. _"I did read some of their papers, earlier. I disagreed with their reasons then, and do so now."_

"Because they were trying to hide the 'I want to play god' part of their desires, or what?"

"_That's fairly accurate. There's one last person, Madison Clark, related to Mallory by marriage. On the rich side of rich. Have you heard of Kabushiki?"_

After a moment of blankness, Brenda nodded. "Yeah. Gaming company. Makes those stupid video games with the pokemon training. You telling me this Madison Clark woman is connected with that?"

"_Sole heir, apparently. There's not much about her in the information I was sent, but I can find out more later."_

"Random question, but wasn't Mallory married to one of the other dead scientists? Was it Taylor or Thompson?"

"_At the moment, I can't remember, but he was married twice. Once to Madison's sister, but when she died, he remarried one of the scientists around a year later."_

"That in the notes?"

"_The, ah, 'college slaves' seem eager to please."_

"Nice."

Brenda got to her feet, and sighed. "Okay. Let's start with the hardest nut to crack. Madison Clark must have people between her and the outside world. We'll have to get past them before we can talk to her."

Sunday, August 9, 1:59 P.M.

The Clark Mansion was just as big and impressive as the late Giovanni Rocketto's residence, though far more tasteful. Instead of being the biggest house in Viridian City's wealthy sector, the way Giovanni's had been, the Clark's place was just outside of the city, big without being overwhelming. It was made of some sort of cream colored stone, and every door and window had been painted a powdery blue. The gardens were gorgeous, phlox mingling with geraniums, stately birch trees rising up out of a wide expanse of lawn that was carpet smooth.

It was just the sort of thing money could buy, but only if you had a lot of it. Brenda smirked to herself as she parked in front of the gates. She preferred her own little house, weedy front lawn, random leak in the basement, shitty heating, and all.

Mewtwo got out as well, and glanced over at her. _"Detective?"_

"Usual," she said. "Me talk, you look serious. There'll probably be like twelve dozen people between us and Madison. I want to hack through them before two-thirty. I've got an appointment at three."

"_I could always teleport you."_

"You could." Brenda found what looked like an intercom, mounted on one of the gate pillars. She pushed the only button, and eyed the machine suspiciously. "But I'd really rather you didn't."

The intercom came to life with a quiet noise, like a cross between a chirp and a beep, before Mewtwo could reply. Brenda glared at the machine. It was freakishly quiet.

"What is the nature of your business?"

"Detective Johnson and Officer Smith. We're interested in speaking with Madison Clark."

There was a brief pause, like the person on the other end was thinking about the request. "Unfortunately, Miss Clark is currently unavailable. If you would care to make an appointment, I will certainly schedule a quick visit."

Mewtwo rolled his eyes heavenward as Brenda growled. "No, see, you don't get it. Murder cops trump whatever the fuck Madison's doing. So, you get her ass over here now. I don't care if she's having her hair done or going on a shopping spree."

Another pause, and this time, when the person spoke, it was in the tones of the polite, yet still angry. "Miss Clark is currently at work, and out of contact. The earliest possible time for an appointment is in two weeks. She is unavailable any time before that."

"_Detective,"_ Mewtwo murmured, confidant that his 'voice' wouldn't carry over an electronic system. _"I don't think we'll get anywhere talking through the intercom."_

Brenda nodded, and turned back to the machine. "Who am I talking to?" she asked. "And isn't it the polite thing to welcome visitors inside?"

There was a sigh. "Very well. Read me your badge number, so I may contact the authorities."

"Paranoid much?" Brenda asked, then pulled out her badge. She read off the number, told him- whoever he was- which station to call, and then bared her teeth at Mewtwo.

"_I know,"_ the psychic murmured. He frowned. _"Is this the normal amount of interference the wealthy give to the authorities?"_

"The wealthy have a tendency to believe that they're above such petty things as authorities. And yeah, it's pretty damn normal."

After several minutes, the gates creaked open. Motors, Brenda supposed. Mewtwo probably would have mentioned psychic activity, wouldn't he? Could he even sense that sort of thing? She eyed her partner as they walked. He'd been able to sense that weird- whatever it'd been- the weird dragon thing had made, back when they'd first joined up.

"Why are you still hanging around?" she asked, then blinked. At his blank look, she elaborated. "You said, back when we met, that you'd hang around only as long as the dragon whatever was causing trouble."

"_Things change."_

"Are you still waiting for my leg to get better?" She scowled down at the limb in question. "It won't."

"_I know."_ Telepathic voices were weird. Mewtwo's currently sounded pleasant and light, as if he were contemplating something happy, like kittens, or the death of every member of Team Rocket, right down to the lowest grunt. _"That's not why I'm still here now."_

"Uh huh."

"_This is much more interesting then being a hermit."_

Brenda nearly giggled. It had to allergies or something, since she never giggled. "Whenever I think of a hermit, I think of some wrinkled old guy with a beard down to his ankles."

"_Similar concept, but with a pokemon, not a human. And I'm not old."_

"Well," she said after a moment. "I guess if you want a complete opposite to playing hermit, playing cop would kind of have to be it."

"_There you go. Shall we?"_ Mewtwo gestured at the grand front entrance they'd just reached, and Brenda sighed.

"Yeah, I guess. Time to bang our heads against the wall of rich people's stubbornness."

She pounded once on the door, as Mewtwo took his place at her back. A part of her, the part that listened for people trying to sneak up behind her, relaxed.

The right part of the huge double door opened, well-oiled hinges noiseless. Brenda looked down at the person inviting them in. Next to him, she felt like a giant. The gods only knew how Mewtwo felt.

The man couldn't have topped five feet in stocking feet, nor tipped the scales at a hundred pounds soaking wet. He was dressed in a somber, dark gray suit, the cut of which suggested an old fashioned tuxedo. His hair was dark, but starting to go white at the temples.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I am Lawrence Rabin, the butler."

"Afternoon, Lawrence," Brenda said, and shoved her hands in her pockets. She shoved past the butler, careful not to actually touch him, and quickly scanned the room. Big, open, two archways to either side opening up to other rooms. A big staircase straight ahead, leading up to the second story. Lots of marble, she noticed, pale brown streaked with white. "Nice place."

"The Clarks think so," the butler replied. "Please, do come in."

Both police officers glanced over at him, and Brenda smirked. "Thanks. So. Where's Madison now?"

Mewtwo moved over to stand at Brenda's back. The muscles in her neck, which had tensed up with no one watching her back, relaxed.

"Miss Clark is at work, as I've said."

"Mmhm. But where's she work, what's she do, what's so important that she can't take oh, five, ten minutes out of her day to talk to us?" She gestured between herself and Mewtwo, and shrugged. "Ask me, that sounds kind of suspicious."

"Fortunately, I'm not asking you." The butler folded his hands, and gave her a Look. It made Brenda feel like she was about three inches tall and covered in grime. "Miss Clark is a doctor, and her patients require her full attention. When she is not working with her patients, she has duties to her family and peers."

"So, what's the big deal? Ten minutes. Here, or at the station."

"Ten minutes is still ten minutes out of Miss Clark's personal time, of which she has precious little of. Taking her to your station would be unnecessary and an embarrassment. Anything you need to ask Miss Clark I can certainly answer for you."

Brenda started prowling around the room, very obviously keeping her hands in her jeans pockets. "You do that a lot?" she asked. "Answer questions for the family?"

"I am in charge of the household and the family appointments," he said.

"Yes or no, Lawrence."

"When necessary, yes. If you require specific information, I can certainly arrange an appointment with Miss Clark."

Mewtwo stepped forward, bringing attention back to himself. _"It concerns her sister."_

"I thought you said you were with Homicide," the butler said, his composure cracking slightly.

"We are," Brenda said. "Maybe we should sit down."

"Indeed." The butler nodded to the left archway. "If you would follow me?"

Brenda nodded, and sauntered after him. Mewtwo trailed after her, frowning.

The room turned out to be a sitting room. The furniture was all well built and expensive, and Brenda was certain it was the same sort of stuff that could be found on an Islander's estate, if a bit fragile.

She took a seat on the couch, and frowned. Why did the expensive stuff always have to be uncomfortable? You would think that the makers would think of a couch or a chair as something people would want to sit in, not look at. Judging by Mewtwo's expression, he was having at least the same trouble getting comfortable on the couch as she was, if not more.

The butler took a chair, and folded his hands in his lap. "If you would begin."

"No problem." Brenda leaned forward, and tilted her head. "Mind if I record this?"

"If you wish."

"I do." She nodded at Mewtwo, who made an odd gesture with his hand, 'pulling out' the recorder from his 'pocket'. It'd been in the car, somewhere. Obviously, he'd known where it'd been.

"I'd like to read you the revised Miranda. For your protection." She placed the recorder on the coffee table right next to the couch, and waited for the butler's nod. She pushed down the on button, and read out the salient details, and the revised Miranda.

The butler nodded when she asked if he understood his rights. "I do."

"You serve the Clark family, don't you?"

"I do."

"Did you serve them when Madison Clark's sister, Delilah, still lived here?"

"I did." The butler took a breath that shuddered a little, and bowed his head.

"Delilah got married to a Michael Dekker, didn't she?"

"Yes- what is this about?"

Brenda leaned back, and considered her answer carefully. "Michael Dekker's come up in an investigation. How did he and Delilah meet?"

"Ah," the butler said, noticeably stunned. "Well, Miss Delilah was interested in Biometrics. She was interning at the lab where Michael worked. Is this really important?"

"Anything could be important, I want to cover all the bases. Delilah died, Lawrence. Did Michael contact Madison at any point after her death?"

The butler held up one hand, one finger raised in the universal signal for 'wait'. "I believe so," he said. "Several weeks after Miss Delilah's death, Miss Madison set up a… I believe you could call it a 'trust fund', if you will, for Michael's lab. She said he was working on medical advances for children, and Miss Clark is fond of children." His smile was sad. "So was her sister."

"How long ago was it Madison set up this 'trust fund'?"

"Do you wish the exact date?"

"Ball park figure."

"Five years or so, perhaps several months over that. Not six years."

Brenda nodded, and leaned back against the couch. Really annoying, this thing, about as comfortable as a rock. Less, maybe. "Did Michael Dekker contact Madison recently? For more money, or something?"

The butler hesitated. Brenda glanced quickly at Mewtwo, who was watching the butler intently. She couldn't even think the start of her question when the psychic shook his head. Whatever it was, Lawrence the butler was able to keep it under wraps.

"He did," the butler said, the words seemingly dragged from him. "I'm not sure why. It was several weeks ago. In July. I arranged the appointment myself, they met at his office at his lab, and when she returned she refused to speak of the meeting."

Brenda nodded, and stood up. She could push, but why bother? It'd alienate a potential source for further information, and if she wanted to make an appointment with Madison Clark sometime this century, she'd have to go through Lawrence. She dropped her card on the coffee table.

"Think of anything else, drop me a call." She nodded to Mewtwo, who picked up the recorder, but didn't turn it off.

Sometimes it was useful having a psychic for a partner.

She paused, already halfway to the door, and turned around. The butler was only just starting to push himself out of the chair. "Oh, thought of something," she said.

"Yes?" The butler finished standing up, and brushed at his slacks. "Are you still looking to make an appointment with Miss Clark?"

"I can do that through her work, I figure. No. This lab Michael Dekker has. Is it in his name?" she asked, sounding innocent. It wasn't, they already knew that. He hadn't been working at any lab, officially, for the past seven years.

Neither had the three other dead scientists.

"In his name?" the butler repeated, surprised. "No. Mr. Dekker was working for a Mr. Brown. David Brown. He is in charge of the bio-medical branch of Helix, I believe."

Mewtwo turned the recorder off, and smiled at Brenda. _"In chess, I believe this is what's called a 'check'."_

"Or a mate. Thanks, Lawrence, you've been a big help. We can see ourselves out." She gestured at the door, and grinned. Before the butler could reply, she was already heading out to the grand entrance room.

A painting hung on one of the walls, one she'd managed to completely ignore, caught her eye. When had anyone made a painting of sunset on Moro Island? Not that it mattered, it was just weird.

She sauntered down the driveway, hands in her pockets. "So," she said. "That was interesting."

"_You think the girls were created with the Clark family's money."_ Mewtwo's tone was pleasant, which was nice, except it made Brenda want to jump in a ditch and hide.

"Yeah, stop that."

"_Stop what?"_

"That predator thing you've got going on, it's not funny. I just about pulled my gun on you." Well, no, but he didn't need to know the truth. "Anyways." She checked her watch. "I've got to make an appointment, you need to pull up every damn thing on Helix. Especially the, what was it, bio-medical branch."

"_I could always teleport you."_

"And I could always puke on your feet. Does that sound like fun to you?" Brenda widened her eyes and grinned. "Didn't think so!"

Mewtwo rolled his eyes and waited until they were past the gates to teleport back to the station.

Sunday, August 9, 2:59 P.M.

Brenda sucked down a deep breath of floral scented air, and glared at the quietly disapproving secretary. Receptionist. Whatever they were calling themselves these days. "I'm not late," she said. "I'm early. I don't care what your clock says, mine says I'm here on time and don't you give me that look, lady, I'm a cop."

"Do you always threaten people?" Dr. Elaine Clark asked, opening what Brenda assumed was her office door. "Come on in. It's okay, Grace. This is Brenda. New patient."

Grace sniffed, and looked back down at her computer screen. Probably to play minesweeper or something, Brenda assumed.

Brenda looked over the room just before entering. Lots of boxes, she noticed, and blank walls. The only thing that seemed to be unpacked was the computer. There was a nameplate on the door. M. Elaine Clark.

"You mind I call you Elaine or what?" she asked, sitting down in the visitor's chair. Unlike most shrink offices she'd been in, this chair was an actual chair, the sort a person could actually relax in. It was threadbare and stained and encouraged a person to curl up, shoes or no shoes.

"I don't mind. Do you always do that?" Elaine asked, taking her own seat behind the desk.

"Do what?"

"Emphasize your accent like that." Elaine leaned back in her chair, and gave an easy smile at Brenda's stare. "Do you really want me to underestimate you? It'd just skew my results."

"And if I say I don't know what you're talking about?" Brenda asked, interested despite herself.

"Then I'd have to say that's bullshit. You're obviously smart. You wouldn't be a cop if you were stupid. But every report from Dr. Boris has him doubting your intelligence. Not to mention what your work reviews say."

"I have a temper."

"There's a temper, and then there's playing to an audience."

Brenda set her jaw, and glared. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Elaine rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Of course you don't. Okay, moving on. Did anyone tell you why you needed this review?"

"Because I'm a danger to society and I have a gun?" Brenda asked, as innocently as she could.

Elaine choked. "Yeah, that's kind of the impression I got too. No, you're just overdue. Everyone else gets reviewed once a year, you haven't been checked since Dr. Boris decided he wanted to visit the Sevii Islands."

"Those aren't islands," Brenda grumbled.

"Not by your standards, apparently. Anyways, that was a year and a half ago. So, here you are."

"Can I go now?"

Elaine's grin was warm and friendly. "Not a chance in hell. So, how's married life doing you?"

Married life? The woman was insane. "What?"

"Your partnership with Officer Smith."

"Oh." Partnership as marriage? Okay, maybe she could see it. "It's fine. I haven't killed him yet."

"Always a good thing."

Sunday, August 9, 3:02 P.M.

Helix's bio-engineering laboratory in Viridian City was only a few blocks down from the still closed Gym. Giovanni had owned the lab, in fact, using it for his experiments on cloning and genetic manipulation. In point of fact…

Mewtwo leaned a little closer to the computer screen, and pulled up another internet window. In a few seconds, he had a map of Viridian in front of him. Was it irony or fate, he wondered, that the laboratory where he and Brenda had met, where the dragon creatures had been created, had been bought by Helix and, apparently, used for human cloning?

The clones couldn't have been born there, he knew. It had only been several months since Giovanni's death. But it could be practically guaranteed, he was sure, that the human clones had been moved to the lab once Helix owned it, and that was where Four had begun her- for lack of a better word- vendetta.

He looked around the bullpen, at the thankfully oblivious cops, and eased away from the computer somewhat. He needed to know more about Helix, especially their bio-medical arm.

Using a police issued computer to illegally hack into a corporate owned business was probably not a good idea, but it wasn't as if anyone would catch him at it. After ten years of doing just this, he was better then average at covering his tracks.

Besides. All he was doing was looking.

He hadn't found anything after half an hour of searching. The bio-medical arm cost a quarter of the company's yearly budget, but going by what that particular arm did, the cost was reasonable.

Unless they were practicing cloning, which, according to Helix's intra-net, wasn't happening.

Mewtwo narrowed his eyes, and turned his computer screen off. Perhaps what was needed was a look at the lab, in person. With the deaths of the four top scientists, and one of the clones on the loose, it should surely be deserted.

If it wasn't, he could make it deserted.

He headed for the stairs, and went up. It was simple enough, flying out over the city, high enough not to be seen. Humans didn't _look_, anyways.

Five minutes later, he landed on top of the laboratory building. Feeling a sense of déjà vu, he extended his mind downwards, carefully touching the minds of the people inside. There were people, at least fifty. Helix was getting its money's worth out of the building.

Once he had the minds in his mental grasp, he told them they were going to go outside. They would stay outside, doing whatever it was they normally did on a break, but they would not come inside until told to do so.

He waited until the last human had stumbled outside, and teleported into the first floor hallway.

The déjà vu increased, so much so that he was ready to raise a shield against flying bullets. Of course there weren't any. If he had checked for any minds then, would he have met Brenda? Or would he have waited- or sent her outside the way he had the scientists- or… Well, who could really know? Looking back, he had to wonder at himself.

Maybe he'd been lonely. He certainly remembered being lonely, but enough so to associate with someone who'd happily shot at him?

Mewtwo shook his head, and started searching the lab.

The first floor seemed devoted to the obvious researches. Stem cell research, he thought, to grow replacement organs from a patient's own cells.

It took, perhaps, fifteen minutes to move from the front of the building to the back. Then, that done, he teleported down to the basement.

It was just as cold and sterile as he remembered it.

Several doors were open off the hallway, and he looked in the first one.

He lashed his tail, and did his best not to look too closely at the lab equipment. Instead, he flipped open the nearest scientific notebook, and began reading.

It was almost like looking at Team Rocket's notes, on himself, or at least, on his predecessors, the ones that hadn't survived.

The clones that were being found dead had most certainly not been the first. They were, in fact, the first of 'series H'. There had been twenty per series, starting with Series one through twenty, moving through the letters A through G, and only with Series H were they actually keeping the clones alive for more then a three years.

The book seemed devoted to the ailments that had plagued the clones. Mewtwo stopped reading it, and glared at the desk.

Slightly, almost unnoticeably, the desk began to tremble.

Humans. Mewtwo's eyes began to glow, very faintly. Humans, who thought they could play god, who thought nothing of the lives they created and ended. Humans, who cared nothing for what they did, so long as it suited _their_ plans and brought _them_ glory.

The desk exploded into splinters. Mewtwo wasn't hit.

The expensive equipment began to crash, metal twisting and glass shattering. The papers were torn into confetti, and anything that remained in the room was torn apart as if by giant hands.

Slowly, he moved to the next room.

He did pause to scan the notebooks left on the desks. None of it was very useful to him.

The computers he destroyed, after taking out their hard drives and reducing them to so many plastic and metal pieces. There was, he noticed, a garbage disposal at the end of the hall; new, since it hadn't been there the last time.

The remains of all the computer hard drives went in there.

The end of the hall gave out on what had been a mass grave, and was now a state of the art lab. Cloning tanks lined one whole wall, filled with yellow liquid, but empty of growing embryos.

It gave Mewtwo great pleasure to smash the tanks with his mind.

It had taken him an hour, moving slowly, making sure to destroy everything, but by the time he was done, there was nothing left of the cloning lab. He smirked, and teleported back to the roof. Time for the scientists to go back to their experiments; and time for him to see what they did when they found the ruin inside.

**End Notes**

So, I've noticed that a) people aren't reviewing and b) my update time has slowed down. As to the last, it's fairly simple as to why- full time job at a call center. I actually enjoy my work, but I come home with my brain leaking out my ears because ye GODS only the stupid people call in to call centers...

As to the first, I fear that you, the readers, are the only ones with the answers. Mind fixing that?


	14. Fight

Fight

Sunday, August 9, 4:31 P.M.

He still felt numb, anger a furnace heat beneath a crusting of ice. The only cure for that was time, he knew, yet he couldn't help wanting to go back and _hurt_ them, every last one of those human-faced monsters who thought nothing of creating life, and then destroying it.

Mewtwo clenched his teeth, and kept walking towards the station house. This time of day, this area of town, the streets seemed deserted, everyone either at work, or elsewhere. There were a few people, mostly younger, walking along the sidewalk or driving in cars, but apart from that Mewtwo was alone.

There were several people outside the station house, a few uniformed cops enjoying what might be one of the last breaks outside without snow, sleet, or hail. And one plainclothes detective, her black hair pulled back in a tight bun, her dark eyes narrowed as she stared up the street at him.

"_Detective,"_ he said, slowing down a little. The look she was giving him was normally reserved for people who infuriated her to incoherence. What, precisely, had he done- or she thought he'd done- to deserve that look?

"Smith," she replied, any traces of an accent gone. "Walk with me. Now." She straightened up from her slouch against the stair's railing, and grabbed his elbow.

"_What seems to be the problem?"_ If he weren't one of the most powerful creatures on the planet, he might have been afraid. As it was, he felt slightly uneasy. If she were to try punching him again, she might hurt herself.

Brenda didn't reply, just kept pulling him around the police building to the parking lot. Halfway there, she let go of his elbow, and stopped. He kept going a few steps more, surprised at the suddenness of her movements.

"_Detective?"_

"Got a question for you." She folded her arms, and her upper lip peeled back to reveal her teeth, like a pokemon.

Mewtwo gestured with one hand. _"Go on."_

"You were researching Helix, right? The bio-whatever branch?"

"_Yes."_

Brenda closed her eyes, opened them, and stared at him. "Would it surprise you to hear that they reported a break in? Apparently," she said, her voice becoming honey sweet, "the scientists and interns and what all who work there found themselves outside, no idea how or why they'd gotten out there, and when they came back in… The basement was trashed."

So they had reported the break in. Mewtwo shrugged one shoulder, and looked uncaring. _"Imagine that."_

"Imagine that indeed." She took a deep breath. "There were security cameras, you idiot."

Security- what? He shook his head slightly. He would have noticed.

"Yeah. Surprise! Those little fish eye ones, guess you were too pissed to pay attention." Brenda scowled, and jabbed her hand in his direction. "Do you _want_ to be hunted? Sure seems like that. What in the seven hells possessed you to do that?"

She wasn't yelling, but he almost wished she were. Her accent was gone, she hadn't moved except to point at him, and there was a look in her eye that was making him uneasy. Not uneasy the way he would feel if she'd pulled her gun, but similar.

"_They were creating more clones."_

"So you destroyed the evidence," she said, voice flat.

Hesitantly, he nodded.

And Brenda exploded. He couldn't actually understand the words- they were too fast, too loud, the words a mix of harsh, guttural sounds and snarled curse words. The tone was easy to understand, though. Brenda was very, very angry with him.

And the cool ice over his own anger melted.

"_What would you have me do?"_ he hissed, interrupting her. She made to speak; he cut her off, _forced_ her silent with his powers. _"Let them continue? Let them make _more_ clones to study and _kill_, or worse, keep alive while they suffer? Is that what you want? I will kill every last one of them, make no mistake about _that_, Detective! They will _suffer-_"_

Brenda flipped him the middle finger. He growled, and took several steps closer, looming over her. _"Or would you rather these clones suffered? They're not _human_, after all, not real creatures, they-"_

He really should have held her entire body in a psychic grip, not just her voice. Brenda slammed her fist into his stomach, putting all her strength into it, and when all that did was make him blink, punched him in the throat.

He gagged, surprised anew, and released her voice. She snarled, and moved to invade _his_ personal space, face twisted in such anger he did feel fear. If looks could kill, in that moment he would have been erased from the history of the world.

"Say that again," she said, her voice as controlled as his hadn't been. "See what happens."

Mewtwo shook his head, eyes wide. Brenda nodded, once, and stalked away several steps.

"You just gave the scientists a get out of jail free card," she said. "No evidence linking them to any crime. No evidence of cloning. No evidence of doing _anything_ other then what's in the ground floor laboratories. No evidence of jaywalking, you asshole! You just- your petty vendetta just let all those murderers walk." She turned around, her eyes flat, unreadable black disks. "Unless we can find more, you just gave the people you hate, the people you want to kill, a legal out. Hope you're happy with yourself."

She turned and started walking back towards the front of the station house. "I don't want to see you here the rest of the day," she called over her shoulder. "Go home and think about what you've done."

Mewtwo clenched his fists, then relaxed them, only to clench them again. He couldn't think. He didn't really want to think. He just wanted to get away.

So he did. Teleportation was useful that way.

Monday, August 10, 5:30 A.M.

Brenda drank more coffee in defiance of the vicious headache pounding away at the back of her skull, and glared at Rhonwen. "Why can't I work with you?" she asked. "You seem sane."

Rhonwen yawned, and scratched at her ear with one hind leg. For being a well trained attack dog, she had adjusted remarkably well to being a family pet, and being at loose ends for at least twenty hours a day. Brenda was proud of the mutt, especially when Rhonwen listened to her 'master's' ramblings.

"Gah," she said, and shook her head, took another sip of coffee. This wasn't getting her anywhere. She looked over at the clock, and sighed. "Great. Just great. Isn't this just fucking wonderful?" She rolled her eyes heavenward. "It's morning."

She got up and headed for the couch. She could doze a little in front of the TV until it was time to go in.

"He's a fucking asshole and not worth my time," she told Rhonwen.

The houndoom just looked up, her red eyes dark and serious, and jumped up on the couch beside Brenda. In minutes, Rhonwen was asleep, but Brenda couldn't get comfortable. She stared at the TV, not listening to the monotone voice of the show's narrator, trying to ignore how bile crawled up her throat when she thought of Mewtwo.

Monday, August 10, 8:00 A.M.

Mewtwo teleported to Brenda's living room, and ducked a thrown book. He turned to look at the projectile, and just noticed a black blur heading towards him. He turned around to deal with the houndoom, and Rhonwen bit his leg.

He yelped, and leapt backward, lashing out mentally by instinct. The houndoom, of course, was unaffected, and didn't let go until he brought his fist down on her head.

And that brought Brenda down upon _him._

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she yelled, and launched herself in his direction.

He lifted one hand, ready to catch her in midair, and she stopped. She hunched her shoulders and glared, but didn't move forward. Rhonwen staggered to her feet, and snarled.

"_What now?"_ he snapped, and glared at the two females.

**You don't want to know,** Rhonwen told him, and turned to stalk towards Brenda's bedroom. She staggered a bit, obviously suffering from at least balance issues, but otherwise unharmed.

"Lemme just tell you something," Brenda said, lifting her chin a little. "There's this little thing. It's called a phone. Maybe you can't talk over it, but you can at least, oh, I don't know, _call me to warn you're coming over_! And then I don't have a heart attack and you don't end up with Rhonwen using you as a chew toy!"

Mewtwo sighed, and looked down at his thigh. Blood seeped from the wound, not much, but enough to irritate him. _"I hate dark types,"_ he said.

"And dark types hate you. You know where the bathroom is." Brenda shifted back to the couch, and flopped down, arms crossed. "Hurry up, we don't have all day."

He rolled his eyes, and went to clean the wound. It only took several minutes, and then he was back. _"Well?"_ he asked.

"Well." Brenda got to her feet. "Morgue. Then you get to see a little home video we were lucky enough to steal."

"_Steal?"_

"You really wanted to be on the six o'clock news? That can be arranged."

Mewtwo clenched his teeth, and followed her to the car. Well, at least he was lucky the cops- or Brenda, it would seem- had the security tapes. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

He glanced over at Brenda several times during the drive, but she was silent. Her knuckles, he noticed, were taupe she was gripping the wheel so hard.

If she wanted to pitch a fit, then fine. It wasn't as if she understood. Justice needed to be dealt out. Justice couldn't be served by the law, not for this. He would deal with the scientists responsible; there was no doubt of that.

"Four's going to be happy," Brenda said, breaking the silence. "She now knows exactly where to go, if she's forgotten."

Mewtwo closed his eyes, and felt his indignation melt into something he liked less. Guilt. Of course, he had to consider Four, who was a clone, a murderer, a little girl, and probably completely insane.

"_You recall the alert I placed in Dr. McClure's mind?"_

"Yup."

No help there, he thought, almost amused. _"I picked up a few images from him. Of Four."_

"Good for you." Brenda found a parking space in the Crime Scene Investigations and Mortuary Building's parking lot. "And I care why?"

"_I thought you'd like to know."_

"Would knowing aid in the investigation in any way?" Brenda asked, pausing to tilt her head. She scowled, and glared. "No. So, drop it."

Mewtwo lashed his tail, and followed her in through the doorway. He promptly walked into her when she stopped dead. He caught her before she could stumble or fall, and for lack of anything better to do with his hands, left them on her shoulders.

She was very tense.

"_Dr. McClure?"_ he asked, and stared at the waiting coroner. _"Is something the matter?"_

"Nothing new, officer," Ben said. He looked better than he had last time, but not by much. He was just as tense as Brenda. "I had thought that I could use my left thumb, index finger, and palm to accomplish any necessary tasks. That has not proved true, and the college students seem to be aware of this." Perhaps a better word for his expression was trapped. "I need one or two students to assist in the morgue, but I'm no good at reading people. I'm a coroner, not a psychologist."

Brenda arched one eyebrow. "And here I want to yell at someone. Anyone who works with you has to deal with us, at least short term."

"I have twenty-four college undergraduates," Ben said, relieved at the offer. "All I ask is that any abuse remains verbal. Any student here is competent, and I only need basic dexterity from them."

"What makes you think I was offering anything?" Brenda asked, scowling.

"I'm giving you free rein to yell at obnoxious, overreaching achievers," Ben said casually. "If you don't want to separate a couple grains of wheat from the chaff... perhaps you would oblige, Officer Smith?"

Mewtwo raised his eyebrows. "_I'm not feeling verbally abusive today,"_ he said. Physically abusive, that he could do. Mentally, certainly. Verbally was a bit restrained for him.

"See, this is what I hate," Brenda said, ignoring the two men. "People who assume stuff. Where did you put your slaves?"

"Third door on the left." Ben wasn't presumptuous by nature. He was simply at the end of his patience, and willing to set fireworks in motion as long as he would get to watch. "I could sort them out myself, but it'd take me at least an hour. I have the feeling that you would be faster." His expression was entirely mild. "It would be more efficient, if you would be so kind."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. What am I, Make a Wish?" She snarled, and headed for the door at a fast walk. She was aware of Ben and Mewtwo trailing in her wake, and mentally smirked. What the hell, she could give them a show. Could be fun.

She slammed the door open, so hard it bounced off the wall. She was passed before it could clip her, and Mewtwo caught it before it could close in Ben's face. Brenda scowled, and gave a brief once-over of the twenty-four students. "Alright!" She bellowed, loud enough Sheryl probably heard her several cities over. "You worthless lot, listen up! You maggots are going to do what I tell you or else, understand?"

Ben somehow suppressed a wide smile. It was horrible. He should feel some twinge of shame that he had asked Detective Johnson to do this for him, but the group had been driving him insane for weeks. Instead, Ben remained near the door and looked professionally aloof.

Brenda pointed at the geekiest college slave she could see. "Rose Red, get me coffee. Move!"

The girl paled when singled out by the police officer, which made her red hair stand out all the more. "Rose Red" darted out of the room after a single glance at Ben, who obviously would not interfere.

The detective grinned, and took one long, predatory step towards the remaining students. "So, you're the idiotic bunch who wants to play with the shiny scalpels," she said, making sure they could just about see every tooth in her head. "Guess what? Trial by fire, sink or swim, pick your phrase. I don't care. You!" She pointed at one of the students, one who happened to have dyed, matte black hair, and more piercings then she cared to think about. "Is dead the new alive or what? Get over in that corner-" she pointed at the one she meant, "- and think happy thoughts, you're scaring me."

The boy raised his eyebrows- one of which was pierced by a shiny earring- and sauntered over to the corner. She put him out of her mind.

"Excuse me," one of the college students interrupted. The boy with the piercings had already made his way to the designated corner. The girl watched him go with distaste, and twined her straightened hair around a manicured fingernail. "But I don't see how these activities are pertinent to our work."

Brenda snarled, like a pokemon, and moved to invade the chit's personal space. "You're a college slave," she said, her accent gaining just a little strength. This was fun. "I'm the cop Dr. McClure works for. Either you get along with me, or you don't get to play with all the shiny sharp things."

The girl didn't back away. "Dr. McClure doesn't work for you, unless you're a commissioner," she said, glancing at Brenda's insignia. "He's a coroner. It's a completely separate system of rank. You have no bearing on programs here."

Ben cleared his throat. "Actually, Stacy, Detective Johnson and Officer Smith are homicide cops with impressive reputations. As far as you are concerned, she and her partner have supervisory powers." Good. He had planned to eliminate the more pushy students from consideration, but thought she had done a good job of removing herself.

Brenda's grin, if it was possible, widened. Or maybe she just looked gleeful. "Hear that, Stacy? Consider yourself my own, personal college slave you want work here."

Stacy's eyes widened, even as she leaned away from Brenda. She was spluttering, Mewtwo noticed. And over in the corner, the boy with the badly dyed hair was smirking.

This was fun.

Brenda turned her attention to one of the other unfortunates. "You!" she barked, and lunged for one of the boys. "What's personal hygiene, and why don't you bother with it? Huh? You think people want dirty people working dead bodies? Idiot! Go scrub yourself down!"

Ben had been telling that to the boy for weeks with no effect.

Mewtwo smirked as Brenda continued verbally hacking through the 'college slaves'. Her accent was very interesting, he noticed, as it seemed to be getting worse the longer she yelled. At this rate, she'd be saying something along the lines of 'yeh fuckin' moron id'it'.

Ben thought he could pinpoint the moment that it ended. David, who always had been too helpful, finally decided to 'help' the detective. "Do you mean college slaves, detective? You keep saying 'collage'."

Brenda's grin became fixed and horrible. Her eyes narrowed, the smile turned to a snarl, and she stalked towards the poor, hapless student with twitching hands. "What was that?" she asked, banishing her accent with a little concentration. She looked over as the door opened, but it was only Rose Red with the coffee. Good- open door, idiot in need of a lesson... "You know," she said, making her tone as conversational as possible. "Some people have accents. Did you know that?" She looked around the room, eyes wide, doing her best to look innocent.

The act ended, and she glared down at the intern, one hand shooting forward to grab the collar of his shirt. In an equally quick movement, she had one of his arms twisted up behind his back and was marching him towards the open door. "Move over, Red," she warned. "Helpful here decided he wanted flying lessons."

Brenda forced 'helpful' to move faster, and let go of his shirt collar. She transferred her now free hand to his belt, and with just a little effort had sent him stumbling out into the hall. "And stay out."

"Rose Red" looked mildly terrified, but she held out the cup of coffee.

Deliberately, Brenda took a long swallow of the steaming coffee, before turning to look at the interns. "Anyone else?" she asked.

"I think that covers diversity training for the week," Ben said. None of the college students would interrupt Brenda. "Olivia, Nigel, I need to speak with you about your schedules for next week. Everyone else is dismissed to research."

Mewtwo smirked at the disappointed look Brenda wore. _"There now, Detective," _he began, only for her to spin and snarl at him. Miraculously, not a drop of coffee was spilt.

That was right; he was on her rather long list of 'people I want to gut'.

"Thank you, detective," Ben said sincerely. "If you'll give me ten minutes, I can give you basic preliminary findings such as likely cause of death and an estimated time. I wasn't much use at all yesterday, but I plan to finish at least two autopsies today."

"Yeah, whatever. It was fun." She continued to glare at Mewtwo, then turned to look at the two interns Ben had chosen. "Hey, Emo-brat, what's with the smile?"

"Just following orders, detective." Nigel only had three piercings on his face. It was the twenty-odd total ear piercings that distracted from his solid black hair. "You helped matters along by giving a dressing-down to the most annoying twits in the program."

Orders? Brenda glanced at Mewtwo out of habit, scowled, and looked back at the goth. Oh, right, orders. "Well, stop it. Your smile's creepier then the rest of you."

It took him a second, but he schooled his face to a disinterested expression. Nigel's thoughts were full of actually assisting in the morgue. Facial expressions weren't interesting at all. "Yes sir."

"Good."

Mewtwo rolled his eyes. _"Let's take a minute, Detective, and step outside? I don't need to hear the exciting details of just how they're going to help with the examination, do you?"_

"Fuck you, asshole." Still sipping her coffee, Brenda headed out of the conference room.

**End Notes**

Hey, look! You guys review; I update sooner. Lovely, isn't it? Kind of a symbiotic relationship, where you let me know you care, and I give you more story. Granted, the longer chapters take longer (duh), but this one had reached it's limit- it was either this, or it'd be 'oh god my eyes are burning and it's only halfway!' long.

So, yeah. Enjoy, next chapter... More Rhonwen, security tape, more Brenda being pissed with Mewtwo, more Ben, more Four and dead clones.


	15. Fraud

Fraud

Monday, August 10, 8:40 A.M.

She was going to kill him. Mewtwo Vahan Smith wouldn't be able to run, or hide, anywhere she wouldn't go in order to rip him limb from limb. Top of a mountain or bottom of the ocean, she _would_ find him and he _would_ suffer. She'd point out why she was torturing him first, though. Because, quite obviously, he didn't get it.

It wasn't just that he'd destroyed evidence. It wasn't just that she'd seen a vengeful god on those security tapes, not her partner. It wasn't just that he'd scared her spitless when he'd destroyed the labs. It'd been that he hadn't thought- but Ben was leaving the conference room, and Brenda had to concentrate on the case.

"Got your slaves sorted out?" she asked, growling a little. Mewtwo shot her a look, but she pretended not to notice.

"I think we'll work very well together," Ben said, glad that the chosen two students had the sense to leave her terminology alone. Brenda had accepted them, that was enough. Proper names weren't likely. "Is there anything you need today? I can confirm time and cause of death, but I don't know what else you'll be focusing on."

"Time and cause of death will be enough, right now. Whatever was wrong with the clone, we already know it's lethal."

"Unless the scientists somehow found a way to correct past mistakes, but the chances of that are very low."

Brenda grunted, and gestured at Mewtwo. She continued to ignore him, even when he hurried forward to open the stairwell door. If he thought being polite was going to get him back in her good books, he'd just have to survive the disappointment. "Slaves?" she asked, glancing back at the two students trailing them. "Gonna have to come up with something to call you."

The boy with the piercings looked amused, but the girl only blushed. "When 'slaves' works so well?" he asked. "Doubt that you want names, in any case, when Dr. Ben is Hades."

"Point," she admitted, semi-cheerfully. "You, girl, you're Slave One. Emo Boy is Slave Dark. Everyone okay with that? Good. Hades, why is it the other students were morons?"

"I didn't choose them, I just get a lot of students from the community college." Ben looked to Nigel for the answer. He doubted that Olivia would start talking again until the police officers had left.

"There isn't an interview or anything, not even a background check. All you need is good marks in a few of the criminal justice classes," Nigel said. "I slept through those and ended up here."

"Sounds like me, only without the medical junk." Brenda smirked a little. She had cheated, though. Leon had been all too happy to help her out. "Anyways. Do you need to do anything, like get the bodies out, or are they already on the tables?" They had almost reached the morgue, and Ben was looking a little tense.

Ben distracted himself with the entry pad for the morgue. He relaxed when the door was open, and they had left the basement's narrow hallway. "We should be just fine. I'm right handed, and I won't need to lift any tissues out of the way. Nigel and Olivia also had very high marks in anatomy for their internship to involve me at all."

_"That doesn't precisely answer the Detective's question,"_ Mewtwo pointed out. _"The bodies on the tables do, however,"_ he admitted, and finished scanning the room. The sterility of the morgue was making his fur stand on end, today.

"The bodies have been on the tables since yesterday. A few lab technicians usually help with that step."

Brenda grunted, and moved to her customary spot near the back wall, out of anyone's way. "So what can you tell us?" She pointed at Nigel. "You. Test time. Freezer girl. Go."

"Taylor had been dead for about five days when she was discovered. No one at this lab could tell from looking at her body, but a contact in another precinct is an expert at cases that involve ice-types. The obvious wound to the neck was probably fatal, because it's not post-mortem."

"We know more about the neck wound." Ben glanced pointedly at Nigel, who only shrugged. "Full marks for the time of death, though. I'm not an expert in any case that involves freezing, so if that comes up in court the coroner from Cerulean has already agreed to testify."

"Fine. Probably won't, but fine. There's another wound?" Brenda's current spot was perfect for looking at the top of the woman's head, but not much else. "Tell me about that one."

"It's not visible without turning the body," Olivia said quietly when Ben gestured to her. "There's a deep gouge in the back, from just inferior to the ribs to just above the right iliac crest. From the look of the marks, it was made by a human hand."

"Okay, I get the idea that it's got to be messy, but what's an iliac crest?"

_"And how,"_ Mewtwo added, _"could a human do that sort of damage?"_

"This part of the hip," Olivia said, gesturing with her hand. "Most humans could do no more than scratch the surface of the skin, but that wound in combination with the snapped neck made us suspect that the clone is again the suspect."

"Lovely," was Brenda's remark. "You, Slave One, clone, test time. Go."

"The latest clone was found in the park, and was killed five days before she was found. The cause of death is the same, blunt trauma to the spinal cord at a high enough level to stop any breathing. The clone's muscled were atrophied in a way that suggested wheelchair use." Olivia's voice remained just barely audible, and she didn't look up from the floor once. Absurdly, Brenda was amused.

"Okay." Brenda nodded, and glared at Mewtwo. "Good enough for now, let me know if anything else comes up. Come, Smith. You and I need to talk."

Nigel watched them go. If Detective Johnson's own partner would flinch at the idea of talking about the case, he didn't want any of her attention.

Monday, August 10, 9:20 A.M.

Brenda drove Mewtwo straight to her home. She'd talked with what's-his-name- Browne, that was it- on the Crime Scene Investigation team, managed to get him to hand over the security tapes without a word. Granted, she might've told him she'd do a few physically impossible things to him if he didn't, but if Browne was too cowardly to hold onto evidence, that was his problem.

"You're going to watch a video," she said. "Rhonwen will make sure you do."

"_A video?"_

"A security video," she said, quite agreeably. "No popcorn for you."

Mewtwo arched his eyebrows. Wonderful, now he got to see himself destroy a criminal enterprise. _"I wasn't aware you enjoyed home movies,"_ he said.

"I don't."

He sighed, and stared out at the passing scenery. Maybe he could arrange to take a vacation after the case had been closed. Surely Brenda would be calmed down after a few days apart?

Brenda parked the car at an angle, half on the street and half in the driveway, and stalked to the front door. Mewtwo followed, making sure to close the car door behind him. _"Have you considered the possibility that leaving the door open, keys in the ignition, and engine running is just an invitation to car thieves?"_

"In!"

Mewtwo sighed, and headed in. He was met with narrowed red eyes, courtesy of Rhonwen. He glared at the hellhound, and made himself comfortable on the couch. _"Do you even know how to work a VCR?"_ he asked.

**You should be silent,** Rhonwen said, shifting over to sit within biting distance. **Our pack leader is angry. Now is not a good time to try to change your place in the pack.**

"_You should stay out of it,"_ Mewtwo said, his words for Rhonwen only.

The houndoom snorted, and looked over at the TV.

Brenda started the video, glared at Mewtwo, and then headed for the door. "I don't want to see you for the rest of the day," she said, growling. "And, for once in your life, _try_ to think with your brain and not your emotions, would you?"

Mewtwo's jaw dropped. He _never_-

**You look like you were hit with a fish.**

"_I'm always logical!"_

Rhonwen made a strange choking sound. **If what you have is logic, I fear your emotions. Watch the pictures.**

Mewtwo frowned. _"Just what-"_

**Watch the pictures. Our pack leader has given me permission to bite you if you don't.**

He rolled his eyes, and looked towards the TV. The image was grainy, out of focus, and in black and white, but it was hard to mistake what was going on. A tall, semi-humanoid figure stood in the middle of a nightmarish swirl of debris, moving slowly through the lab. The picture jumped whenever a new camera was used, but otherwise the images didn't change.

Perhaps, he thought, Brenda had a point. He hadn't been thinking, or he would have left most of the lab intact. It wasn't as if they could just throw away evidence.

**Now you know,** Rhonwen said, when he grimaced. **She feared, when she watched.**

Brenda had been afraid? He supposed he could understand that. What could be done to metal and plastic could be done to flesh and bone. _"I'll have to do something to make it up to her,"_ he said.

**Stop being an idiot. Go home. Tomorrow, you can try again.**

Mewtwo scowled at the houndoom, and fantasized about breaking her back. Of course, if he tried, she'd just rip his leg open to the bone, and then leave him to Brenda's tender mercies.

He teleported to the forest. He could use some time away from _females_.

Monday, August 12, 12:00 P.M.

Mark chewed his lip, and kept one eye on the older girl. Brian had brought his three nieces over to stay for a long weekend. The long weekend was technically over, the girls were still in the apartment, and Mark's stomach was twisting itself into knots.

Brian looked nothing like these girls. Brian was short and stocky and dusky skinned. These girls were tall and slender and pale. The oldest looked maybe sixteen, the youngest closer to five or six. And there was something wrong with each of them. Mark had _watched_ her, making breakfast just yesterday. She'd put her hand down on a red-hot burner and hadn't noticed until Mark had yelled. Even then, she'd just looked confused, staring at the burns until he'd fixed her up.

The middle kid was the weirdest, though. The youngest just sat in the corner and rocked and looked terrified the entire time. The middle one watched her sisters and smiled. It was freaky, but not nearly as freaky as what'd almost happened when she'd caught the rattata. Pinned it in a corner and picked it up by the tail. Then she'd turned to Brian and asked if she could play with the knives, with the freakiest grin you ever did see.

There was something very wrong with those girls.

But just what could he do? Brian refused to see anything wrong, and would be returning them to their parents this afternoon. There wasn't anything Mark could do… Was there?

Not for the first time, since meeting the girls, he looked at the phone and considered dialing social services. There had to be some rule. They weren't healthy, they were sick in the head and body. And, well, you only got sick like that if you were being beaten or something by your parents.

It was the fact that Brian was out getting groceries that finally decided Mark. He got up and walked over to the phone. As he was dialing, the middle kid walked over and stared at him.

"Do you know how to flay people?" she asked. Mark shuddered.

Somehow, he managed to impress the chick at social services so much, the police showed up within ten minutes.

**End Notes**

And life has once more picked up. Meaning, of course, my other stories have stopped dragging their heels and are listening to their mistress cracking the whip. That being said, anybody figured out why Brenda's so pissy with Mewtwo? Anyone know what med grad students are like and why Ben needed to get rid of most of them? And anyone know why I'm asking so many questions when I should be writing?


	16. Existence

Existence

Tuesday, August 13, 12:12 P.M.

Mewtwo put down his pen, unable to handle the bullpen's unusual quiet. It seemed everyone had decided to take their lunch at the same time, and the officers that remained were working on paperwork. It was positively eerie. _"Detective, might I have a word?"_ he asked, turning to look at her. _"In private?"_

Almost instantly, the two of them were the center of covert observation from the rest of the room. Brenda looked up from the work she was doing, and glared.

"Does it involve the case?"

"_Peripherally."_

"Fine. Ten minutes. Conference room A."

Mewtwo nodded, and obligingly followed along in her wake as she stomped down the hallway. He was not going to grovel for forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive. However, it was quite obvious that Brenda didn't agree. At the very least, they could agree to disagree, but in order to do that, they'd have to talk. Just so long as she didn't try to punch him again, they should be able to speak civilly to each other once more.

Considering the watchers outside the window, Brenda drew the conference room's blinds, and locked the door. "Alright, out with it. What's so important?"

"_You're upset with me. Are you going to yell, or calmly tell me why?"_

She arched her eyebrows, and smirked. "Why don't you tell me why I'm pissed."

That was… unexpected. Mewtwo ducked his head as if he were peering over a pair of spectacles, and stared at her. _"What?"_

"You tell me why I'm pissed, and I'll tell you if you're right or not."

"_That is the worst idea I've ever heard."_

"And?"

He sighed, rolled his eyes. _"Fine. You're upset because I went behind your back, destroyed an entire lab, and was stupid enough to get caught on camera. I'm sure there's more, but that's just what's coming to mind."_

"Wow, one out of three. Not bad, if you wanted a failing mark." Brenda bared her teeth in a snarl. "No, you fuckwit. Yeah, getting caught was bad. You should definitely get grounded for that. What I'm pissed about is one- you destroyed everything. No evidence of wrong doing means we can't arrest them! And if we can't arrest them, they can go on their merry little way and keep doing it!" She jabbed one finger in his direction. "As far as going behind my back goes, yeah, I'd kind've have liked an update! Even just a 'I found something, I'm the best choice to take a look, do you mind staying here for a bit?' so I know what's going on and that you're not going to get yourself killed!

"Do you know what happens to super powerful renegade pokemon that do this sort of shit? They get a visit from a guy with a gun. They would have hunted you and hunted you and- forget it."

Mewtwo blinked, and eyed Brenda, who was looking rather murderous. _"You were protecting me?"_

"You kind of have to sleep some time."

He ignored the non sequitur. _"So the fact that I'm powerful enough to destroy the lab didn't bother you?"_

"Already knew you could. Even if you are a wimp when it comes to pain."

"_Do you know how sensitive my second neck is? I banged it into the desk, I'm surprised I wasn't unconscious longer!"_

"Huh?" Brenda's expression shifted from anger to utter confusion. "What?"

"_Weren't you referencing our first case, those dragons?"_

"Was I? No, but now that you mention it… Ever considered a neck guard?" Brenda arched her neck, trying to see over Mewtwo's shoulder. "Might help."

"_Pressure is painful. That's not the point. How did we even start talking about this?"_ he asked, feeling the beginnings of amusement. It seemed Brenda was no longer angry with him, if she were willing to go off into tangents.

"Guy with gun, sleeping, you powerful and a wimp. I think that's how."

"_Of course."_ He shook his head. _"Detective, if I'd left even part of the lab in place, they could have continued their work."_

She stared at him, and then looked up at the ceiling. "You're a hacker, right?"

"_Yes."_ What that had to do with anything, though, he didn't know.

"So you know computer viruses."

He suspected he knew where she was going. _"Yes, but precisely how could I… Oh."_

"So, thinking with your brain, now?" she asked, sounding innocently smug. Mewtwo glared, but it was half hearted at best. "You know, if you'd asked me for ideas, as far as viruses… I'm thinking nursery rhymes."

"_And how did you think up the virus idea?"_ he asked.

"I was watching the news before work this morning," she admitted. "Some sort of mega- what do you call it, worm?- making the rounds this month."

Mewtwo shook his head. _"Very well. I have been reprimanded, and shall keep this in mind. Does this mean we can work without you filleting me with your eyes?"_

Once more, Brenda arched her eyebrows. "Filleting you? With my _eyes_? I didn't know that was physically possible. And I was imagining you being drawn and quartered, actually. Now come on, we need to find some way to wrangle a search warrant for that lab you broke."

"_What for? It's destroyed. They reported it destroyed."_

"Of course they did, and you might have missed something."

"_Detective, we can just go right in."_

"Smith, let me explain something to you. If you missed something, they'll be hiding it away, in a closet or a desk upstairs. Somewhere the CSI aren't going to be looking. We're going to be looking in those closets and desks, we need a warrant. And a judge who won't laugh hysterically at us, but I'm working on that."

Tuesday, August 13, 4:02 P.M.

Judges willing to listen to far fetched theories were few and far between. Brenda was finally forced to call in a favor she'd managed to earn, way back when she was an officer. Judge King's daughter had been involved in a murder investigation, peripherally, in a minor way. The sort of minor way that might have caused a scandal, if the gossip rags heard about a girl sleeping with a dead guy about two hours before his death.

If Julie King had actually been involved in the murder, Brenda would've taken her in. As it was, she'd gotten drunk and the guy had taken advantage of that fact before getting his head bashed in. Why put the girl through that?

Judge King was left feeling thankful, and had agreed to consider maybe writing a warrant for Helix's lab in Viridian City. Since that was the best Brenda could do, she went back to the more mundane part of her job- paperwork- with only minor grumblings.

"Yo! Johnson!"

She looked up, and scowled more out of habit. "What?" she called back. Why the fuck couldn't Jennings just walk across the bullpen like everyone else?

"Got someone wants to talk to you!"

Brenda raised her eyebrows, and nodded to Mewtwo. He got up, and followed her over to Jennings' desk, where a uniformed officer, barely out of the college, was standing. She looked between the officer, and Jennings. "What?" she asked, quieter now.

"What are you, her body guard?" Jennings asked Mewtwo. Jennings didn't wait for an answer, just shrugged, and looked up at Brenda. "Hey. Willis here's heard something you might want to know."

Automatically, Brenda looked over at Willis.

The officer colored slightly under the regard, and cleared his throat. "I'm in Missing Persons," he said. "And we help out Child Services, when they need a cop or two."

"And?" Brenda asked, pretending boredom.

"And, well, whenever a kid ends up dead, we get a copy of the file. Photo and a few facts, anyways. Your girls have been on our bulletin board, in case they were part of anything on-going. They're not. But…" the kid paused, and looked down at his shoes, up at the ceiling, over at Jennings- anywhere but Brenda. "Couple kids got taken to the hospital recent. CPS requested a uniform, and I was tagged."

"Is there a point to this, or did you just want a cookie for doing your job?"

Behind her, Mewtwo snorted. She kicked backwards, unsurprised when her foot didn't connect.

Willis shook his head. "No, see- the kids, they looked like the ones on the board. Your kids. I thought maybe you'd want to know."

Brenda took a deep breath, and looked back at Mewtwo. His eyes were wide and wild. Slowly, she turned back to Willis, and nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Where'd they get taken?"

"Hospital right now. They're sick. Ah, St. Patrick's hospital, on Fifth and West?"

"I know it. Thanks. Good memory." Brenda didn't wait for a reply, just started walking. Stairs were a bad idea right now, but the elevator didn't bear thinking about. Stairs it was.

"_I can always teleport us to the garage."_

"I hate teleporting," she whispered back. Mewtwo caught the door before she let go of it. She glared at the stairs, and then up at him. "Though, in the interests of saving time and energy…"

"_Say no more."_ Mewtwo grabbed her elbow in one hand, narrowed his eyes, and then the world turned electric blue. A second later, they were in a different place, and Brenda was really glad he had her elbow. She might have fallen, otherwise.

"Really hate teleporting. Come on."

Brenda glanced down at her watch. Nearly thirteen days now. About time they got a real break in the case, instead of finding little bits and pieces and chasing their tails. Maybe they could close it down, before any more girls died. Or, alternatively, before Mewtwo finally snapped, went supernova, and tried to destroy the town again.

The drive over to the hospital was blessedly short and quiet. The corner of Fifth and West was about ten blocks from the station, in an area of town that saw less traffic then the rest of the city. Finding a parking space was easy; it was even free, since the parking meter was leaning at a crazy angle, like someone had driven into it. According to the gauge, Brenda had something like twelve hours and fifteen minutes before someone showed up to tow her car.

Mewtwo edged closer as they approached the hospital doors. She glanced up at him. "What's wrong? Don't like doctors?"

"_No. Nor hospitals. I'm a telepath, remember?"_ If an illusion could look grim, his did.

"Ah. Right."

Then, without warning, Brenda felt the weird, creepy feeling of being covered in spines again. She looked up at Mewtwo, and frowned. "Your eyes are glowing," she said, trying to refrain from punching him. "What are you doing?"

The blue glow faded, and he sighed. _"Arranging things so I wouldn't be distracted. I suppose I should have warned you."_

"Might have been nice." She looked down at her arms, and scowled. Smooth skin, no spines. The fuck was going on?

Unless- psychic thing, maybe he was doing that weird 'hide behind Brenda's mind' thing he'd done way back when. She'd almost forgotten about it. She certainly felt the same.

She shrugged one shoulder. It didn't hurt, just felt weird. And until it hurt, it didn't matter. She had some girls to talk to, and maybe take into protective custody.

The waiting room was filled with adults and kids. Skin crawling, Brenda did her best to ignore them, stepping around the little ankle biters when they didn't get out of her way. The nurse on guard duty, sitting behind a protective plexiglass shield, didn't look up from her novel. "Please write your name on the clip board, you'll be seen to by the next available doctor."

Brenda dug her badge out of her jeans pocket, and slapped it against the plexiglass. The nurse looked up, washed out blue eyes widening at the unusual sight. "Maybe you could just get me someone in charge?" Brenda suggested, managing to keep her tone pleasant.

"Ah- sure. Just- wait here?" The nurse put her book down, and stood up. "I'll go get Dr. Clearfield."

"You do that." Brenda hooked her badge on her belt, and turned to scan the room again. A few of the adults were watching her out the corners of their eyes, while the nearest kids were staring with open curiosity.

"Is that a real gun?" one of the kids asked.

Mewtwo chuckled, and smiled when Brenda turned to glare at him. _"Well, Detective?"_ he asked. _"Is that a real gun?"  
_

"I could always shoot you," she offered.

"_I think I'll pass."_

Fortunately, the nurse scurried back with a doctor in tow, before that conversation could get any stupider. Brenda turned to glare at the intruder; the doctor just opened the tiny little half door meant to keep would-be patients from wandering the prohibited corridors, and nodded.

"What can I help you with, officers?" he asked.

Brenda gestured at Mewtwo. He glared at her, before looking at the doctor. _"Three girls were brought in earlier today. They would be sisters, with blonde hair and brown eyes, and ill. We believe they are part of a current investigation, and would like to confirm or disprove that theory."_

She arched her eyebrows, impressed despite herself. Sometimes Mewtwo could sound almost professional.

The doctor, Clearfield, nodded. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to see some ID, before you can speak with them."

Brenda produced her badge, and a second after, Mewtwo pulled out his. His was probably an illusion, but it was a good one, and passed muster. The doctor nodded, adjusted his glasses, and led them down the hall. The hallway was crowded, not so much that it was impossible to make any headway, but enough to make the back of Brenda's neck itch. Just how did anyone keep track of all these people, anyways?

"We're keeping the girls together, and have been running some tests. I've personally never seen any symptoms like this before. It's like their nervous system is being attacked, though by what, that's the question. They said their uncle has been taking care of them, but gave three different names when we asked who he was."

"Great," Brenda muttered, and stopped when the doctor stopped. Clearfield waved his hand at the open doorway of a patient room, and sighed.

"Through there. If you need anything, let one of the nurses know."

Mewtwo nodded, and entered the room before Brenda could start to move. She scowled, and followed. "Pushy," she muttered.

There were three beds in the room, and a television, turned off. The walls were a dull, grimy off-white, the floor was gray speckled linoleum, and the sheets were only a shade paler then the walls. The impression was of a prison, not a place to get better.

Somehow, Brenda managed to overlook the three girls. At least until Mewtwo stepped forward, dropped his illusion, and started talking at them.

"_I'm so, so sorry,"_ he said.

"Smith!" Brenda yelped, just keeping her voice down. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The three girls stepped forward. They were lined up by height, the oldest seeming to the right, the youngest seeming to the left. They were smiling. With their pale hair and skin, and the hospital gowns they were wearing, they seemed to fade into the walls.

"He's trying to-" the eldest clone said.

"-Earn our trust-" It was the middle girl's turn.

"-By showing us-" The youngest, now, and Brenda's head was starting to hurt.

"-That he's similar to us," they finished, in unison. Mewtwo stepped back a pace, eyes wide, and Brenda nearly jumped forward to take his place.

"Did it work?" she asked, voice desert dry.

"No," the three said, their voices overlapping.

Brenda slashed her hand through the air. "Stop that," she snapped. "Talk like normal people."

"But we're-"

"-Not normal. What do-"

"-you mean by-"

"-Normal?"

"Oh, gods." Brenda looked heaven ward. "Look, girls. We're trying to stop the ones who've done this to you."

"We know," the youngest said, nearly singing it. "We can feel-"

"-Our sisters die." In comparison to the youngest, the eldest sounded mournful. "We can feel-"

"-Four, and her anger, and her fear," the middle aged clone said. She chewed her lip, and glanced down at the floor. "You can't-"

"-Stop her, so don't-"

"-Bother trying."

Mewtwo stepped forward again. _"She can't stop your creators. Sooner or later, she'll be caught and killed. And he will just continue creating more of you. Do you really want that?"_

The three girls tilted their heads, and frowned. "Not really," they admitted. "But what can-"

"-We do? We've never-"

"-Seen anyone other then-"

"-The scientists who created-"

"-Us. Four killed them."

Brenda rubbed at her forehead. This was worse then watching tennis. "You can tell us anything you remember. Like anyone you saw who looked like they were in charge."

The girls hummed, and looked at each other. Brenda turned to Mewtwo, and pulled him over to the far corner. At some point, she noticed, he'd resumed his illusion. She'd wait to kill him, then.

"Are they psychic?" she asked. That little mention of feeling their sisters die had been- odd. And kind of creepy, now that she thought about it.

"_Not that I can sense,"_ Mewtwo replied. He shook his head, and looked back at the girls. _"But they're… odd. It could be something on a different level. Or empathy, which is a passive-"_

"Is this going to turn into a lecture?" she interrupted.

He rolled his eyes. _"I can't sense empathy. If they're empaths, I couldn't be able to tell."_

"Thank you. Okay. Now, I've got the feeling this is kind of dead ending. We've still got a couple more people to harass. I say we finish up here, get a guard put on duty, and then go find the others."

Mewtwo nodded, and they walked back across the room- all three steps- to the girls. "Well?" Brenda asked.

The eldest looked between her two sisters again, and then up at Brenda. "We think he's called David. Our creators were very respectful to him."

David? As in David Brown? Brenda filled that away. "Can you remember anything else?"

They shook their heads, their hair swinging around their faces in the exact same way. "No," they said. "Nothing."

"Thanks." Brenda headed for the door. "I'll arrange for an officer to guard you," she said. "Please behave."

Now all she needed was a phone. There was a pay phone down the hall, near the bathrooms. Mewtwo hesitated, but stayed near Brenda as she made her call.

"You could always play guard yourself," she said, once she'd hung up on dispatch. Mewtwo shrugged.

"_They make me uncomfortable,"_ he admitted.

"So it's not just me? Good. Dispatch said it'll be a minute, I want our guy through the door ASAP."

"_Do you want me to wait with the clones?"_

Brenda favored her partner with a pitying look. "One minute. Two, at the most. In a hospital. Maybe, if we were talking hired assassin, or even just an adult, I might be worried. But- hospital. Kid with no experience in the real world. I think they'll be safe for two minutes."

They got another five steps before someone started screaming.

Brenda spat a curse and ran back to the clones' room. She had her gun out, and charged through the room, just in time to catch a flying nurse. She dropped her gun automatically, and stumbled back. She accidentally kicked the gun, and was forced to watch it going spinning down the hall, the polished linoleum doing nothing to stop it.

The people closest to the room were trying to get away, the people further back were trying to get close, and the nurse in Brenda's arm wouldn't stop screaming. Blood splattered the pale yellow scrubs, spreading from shoulder and hip. Brenda let the woman down gently, and ran into the room again.

Mewtwo had gotten in, and was pressing the sheets from one of the beds against one of the clones' stomachs. The middle clone, Brenda noticed. The other two were beyond help, if the visible vertebrae in their necks were any indication. "Where-" Brenda started to ask.

Then she was hit by a human-shaped tank from behind.

She had never fought against an opponent like the clone, before. Not even the dragon-things Giovanni had created. The girl was fast, strong, and small. She slammed one fist into Brenda's stomach, and when the detective folded over, punched Brenda in the nose.

Then the clone ran out of the room. Judging by the screams, she was attracting a lot of attention.

"Stay here!" Brenda told Mewtwo, and ran after the clone. Four, her name was Four.

It was fairly easy to follow the clone's route. She'd run down the hall, hung a left to a different part of the hospital, and managed to get out a fire door. Brenda scowled at the door, which had a huge dent in the middle, and limped back to the clones' room, and Mewtwo.

"Well, Four got away," she admitted. She rubbed her hip, and clutched one arm around her stomach. "Her?" she nodded to the girl Mewtwo was tending.

Mewtwo shook his head. _"Gutted,"_ he said. _"I didn't even realize Four was there. Are you alright?"_

"She must have hidden in the bathroom- you couldn't sense her?" Of course he couldn't, Brenda realized. Maybe he did have limits after all. "Well, I'm fine. Sore, going to bruise, but fine."

"Officer?" Someone in a doctor's outfit stepped into the room. He blanched when he saw the two bodies, and the third girl. "Oh, god."

"Don't just stand there, help him!" Brenda said, and gestured to Mewtwo. "Or we'll have three dead bodies!"

In the end, they had three corpses anyways. There hadn't even been any time to try to operate.

Tuesday, August 13, 5:09 P.M.

Whoever had called Melanie was fucking dead. Brenda had agreed to move to an examination room, only because the blood that refused to stop dripping from her nose would contaminate the crime scene. Then someone went and called the doctor from hell and… Well, someone was going to die.

"For the love of--it's a broken nose! Brenda, put some gauze under your nose and tilt your head back. Mewtwo, calm down, you're making sharp things vibrate. Susan, I can take care of these two if you would like to be somewhere else. Brenda's infamous for being a bad patient."

Brenda glared and snarled up at Melanie and the nurse. She held up one hand, fingers crooked into claws. "Back off, Melanie."

Mewtwo clenched his hands into fists, and sighed. _"Sorry to drag you away from your work,"_ he apologized. _"But..."_

"It's a nosebleed, and quite possibly a broken nose. I'll know when she moves her hand." Melanie tossed a wad of gauze into Brenda's lap. "You're bleeding on the floor. Use it."

"That's what janitors are for. You called her?" she rounded on Mewtwo. "Damn it, Smith. You're dead!"

"You're in a hospital, Brenda. My hospital. If there's any kind of problem involving you, I get involved. I had the chief of pediatrics come running in to finish one of my cases so I could come deal with you."

"This isn't your hospital. Your hospital's on the other side of town. Unless you've been transferred, but I think I would've heard about that. Right?"

"Different building, same management. That meant I had the pleasure of driving over hear to see a broken nose, and you won't even let me take a look. Not my fault that the treatment can hurt."

Brenda snarled, and threw the now-bloody gauze at Mewtwo's head. "Run," she spat. "I'll catch you later." She glared at the doctor, aware of her partner walking away. Probably to keep an eye on the dead girls, but whatever. "My face is fine."

"So it'll take me all of ten seconds to have a good look," Melanie countered. "If any of the bone is splintered, I need to know. It's a mark against me if I let you walk out of here with bone fragments out of place."

"My bone fragments are fine. And you don't have x-ray vision."

"X-ray's the next step, good call." Melanie stepped closer.

"I'm _fine_." It was impossible to press any further back against the wall without actually going through it. "One little girl gets in a lucky punch, and that bastard overreacts. It'll stop bleeding."

"I know it was a lucky punch. That's why I'm trying to make this fast. You cooperate with me, we're done in half an hour, and I get to go home." Melanie did not look happy. "How did you manage to leave this entire hospital staff terrified of you? I have free run at their x-ray room and technicians, any tests I want, a good exam room waiting, and they didn't even try to treat you."

"I maybe punched some guy," Brenda admitted. "It was his fault, though."

Melanie, already in a bad temper from an overly long shift at the hospital and bad traffic when driving between buildings, fixed Brenda with her most disapproving look. She knew how that story would go.

"I was telling the idiots to leave the bodies alone, because crime scene was going to want to deal with it, when he grabbed my shoulder and reached for my face," Brenda explained. "I don't like that, so I punched him. In the throat. Not very hard, or anything, just enough that he backed off."

"Probably while falling on his ass," Melanie guessed. "You know what? I don't care, it means we can get this done faster. Would you like me to just have an X-ray done? If that comes out right, I'll send you home with a script for painkillers that I know you won't get."

"I hate painkillers." Brenda dug at the linoleum with her heel, and glared.

"I'm not going to give you any. I'm going to give you a little piece of paper that says you can get a high strength of them, you'll throw it in the trash, and I'll have done my job as your doctor to make the offer. My supervisor wants to make sure your medical file looks nice and tidy, to contrast the files about you assaulting staff members."

"I do NOT assault people! They assault ME and I defend myself! Ask Mewtwo, he'll tell you!" Brenda paused, and scowled, which managed to make her whole face pound. "On second thought, don't, he'll tell you I think they're Martians invading the planet or something stupid."

"He touched your shoulder. That's not assault."

"He tried to grab my nose. That's assault."

"He's a doctor. He tried to look at your nose, which is a very involved process. Do you want an X-ray, or do you want to sit in this room for another ten minutes?"

"I want to go home, actually, without an X-ray or sitting in this shit-hole for another ten minutes."

"I want to be in bed asleep, that's not going to happen until I'm sure that we won't be coming back to this later. The bone that separates the two sides of the nasal cavity could have shifted, that's much easier to fix now."

"Melanie, just back off. I'm fine. I can breathe fine." To prove it, Brenda breathed out through her nose. The blood had clotted, which meant she had to practically snort, which meant she sprayed her shirt with blood. It also meant that her vision grayed out for a solid minute. "Owh... shit."

"My point exactly," Melanie said, concerned. "X-ray? Doing it is the only way I'll stop bothering you about it."

"Melanie, I hate those things. They give you cancer." Well, now she could see again. Sort of. Everything was some shade of weird puke color. "Can't you just look, without touching?"

"They only give cancer if used in excess," Melanie said, thinking. "Will you promise to call if anything is strange?" Faced with signs that Brenda was actually in pain, her manner changed. "I don't have to touch unless your nose is out of alignment. That's not just cosmetic, it can be important for breathing."

"You know, two nostrils, plus mouth... I think I can handle a broken nose," Brenda said. She lowered her hand to her knee, and glared. "Touch, and I'll break your arm."

"If anything is where it shouldn't be, I'll give fair warning." Melanie would compromise nothing more. "You're making my job impossible, Brenda. I just want to help you."

"I don't give a flying fuck about your job!" Still, she stood up, to make it easier for Melanie to stare at Brenda's face. "Remember what I said about touching."

"I do. My job is helping people, no matter what you think." True to her word, Melanie didn't touch. It meant that she bent in closer than usual, but she could see no serious damage. "I don't think it's a true broken nose, or that you'll sit for an x-ray. That is the fastest way to make the diagnosis." She frowned, still thinking. "I believe that only the cartilage is broken, so it should heal much more cleanly. Would you let Smith check for me? If you won't let me intervene today, I want someone besides you taking a look every day. I'll accept Smith, your mother, or Ben McClure."

"Smith'll do," Brenda grumbled, and rubbed carefully at her cheeks. Fucking hell. "Is that it? I kind of have stuff to do."

"After I talk to Smith about what he should look for, yes," Melanie said. Her task over, she settled into the provided chair. There were dark circles under her eyes, but she still looked alert.

"Have you considered coffee?" Brenda asked, and wiped her face on her sleeve. The shirt was a dead loss, anyways. At least it wasn't white. "You look burnt out."

"Thirty-hour shift, I've had all the coffee I can handle before I start shaking."

"Get someone to drive you home. You've dealt with the homicidal cop, you should sleep."

"Is Smith busy?"

"He's babysitting bodies, so if you can handle dead people, I'll walk you over." They'd look a pair, probably. One half dead, the other moving very carefully, with blood streaming down her face. Good thing they were in a hospital.

"I've done lab classes with cadavers. Let's go."

Brenda nodded, and took the lead. The few people still in the halls scattered when she stalked through them, dragging Melanie along in her wake. The walk to the clones' room was blessedly short, and Smith was standing just outside. "Hey," she said. "Dr. Hack'n'slash wants to talk to you." She jerked her thumb at Melanie, and moved to stare in the patient room.

Mewtwo arched his eyebrows. _"Hack'n'slash?"_ he asked, amused.

Melanie didn't have the energy for the pair of them. "I don't know, I didn't touch her as per orders. Because she won't consent to an x-ray or a physical examination, I'm making do with a visual. You're my designated deputy. If any part of the bridge of her nose looks inflamed, swollen, red, or unhealthy, you are going to call me. If you have any questions, Dr. McClure has enough medical training to diagnose a complication."

Mewtwo blinked, and focused on the doctor. _"Have you considered getting some sleep? Or at least sitting down? You look like you're about to fall over."_

"That's on the agenda, as soon as I get back to my apartment. I was supposed to be done with a shift, not coming across town for Brenda to fight me tooth and nail over basic medical treatment."

_"I'll talk with her about being unreasonable at a better time for you. Come on, I'll have someone take you home. You're in no condition to drive."_ He started to look around for some luckless fool, and spotted one of the officers who had secured the scene. _"You! Dr. Copeland needs to get back home."_

"My car's here," Melanie protested. "I am capable of driving when tired."

_"Officer- Brian, is it?- will be delighted to drive you in your car. Do I need to quote accident statistics at you until you yield?"_

Melanie held up her hands. "I yield, I yield. You can make an appointment with me sometime soon? I just had the right medical records transferred." That was a lie, but she couldn't tell the truth with a stranger right there.

Mewtwo narrowed his eyes, but nodded. _"At your convenience, of course. Perhaps in a week or so? I don't know how long the case is going to take, but... You understand?"_ He looked over at the officer in charge of getting Melanie home, and nodded. _"Get some rest, doctor. You look like you need it."_

He didn't wait for a reply, simply moved over to where Brenda was standing, glaring as the three girls were put into body bags and onto stretchers.

**End Notes**

For anyone curious why it took this long to get the chapter up, all I can say is work. The travel industry is currently going through one major headache right now- Swine Flue in Mexico, travel advisories, people calling in freaking out- and that's really all I can say without either breaking my company's privacy laws or getting upset again. Also, I started another story (yes, another), called Shades of Violet. If you want to check it out, I'd be greatful.

Anyways, this is chapter sixteen (and we've now hit 170+ pages in Chosen Fate, in Word), and we're no where close to being done. We've started the slippery slope down, gentlefolks. Try to keep your feet under you.


	17. To See

To See

Wednesday, August 14, 5:15 A.M.

Kitten-One knew bad things were happening. Her father was worried, snapping at his scientists. It worried the girl. When her father was angry, people went away and never came back. He had gotten angry with Three, and then Three had gone away and never come back. He had gotten angry with the other sisters, and Kitten-One knew she would never see them again.

She climbed up on the reading chair, sitting just under the window, and put her hands on the glass. Her room was on the high floor, the third floor. Her window looked out on the street, and she could see everything.

There was a flash of white down by the corner. Kitten-One craned her neck, trying to see it better. Another flash of white, closer this time, and she knew. Four. Little-big sister Four had come to get Kitten-One, to take her to the sisters.

Kitten-One curled her hands into fists, pressed them against the glass. If only she were strong like her sisters, or smart. Bigger, anyways.

Four was standing right under the window now, looking up and smiling. Kitten-One lifted one hand to wave back.

She could feel Four, like a hug from her sister. And directions. Four always knew what to do. Four and Three were the smartest of the sisters, even Seven and Eight thought so. But the sisters were gone, and Four was going to take Kitten-One to them.

Kitten-One slid the window open, biting her lip to keep quiet. It was hard. The window didn't want to move. When it was wide enough for her to get her shoulders through, she stopped pushing on it, and turned her attention to the screen.

Flimsy, she thought, pushing her hands against it. Was it Four thinking that about the screen? Or Kitten-One? Did it really matter?

Kitten-One turned to her bedside table, and picked up the lamp. It was heavy. Four's directions were clear though.

She dropped the lamp. It shattered, the ceramic turning into sharp pieces. Kitten-One picked up the biggest of the pieces, and carried it over to the chair. She used the piece to cut open the screen, and dropped the piece to the floor. She didn't need it now. She climbed up to perch on the window sill, and looked out.

Jump! Four urged, holding up her hands. I'll catch you!

Kitten-One laughed, and jumped.

Wednesday, August 14, 11:08 A.M.

"-and shove it up your ass sideways!"

Mewtwo didn't look up as Roberts and King dragged their madly howling suspect to an interview room. After a certain point, he theorized, a person could get used to anything. Even working among the more- colorful- characters that congregated in a police station.

Brenda was talking on the phone, while trying to write her reports one-handed. Mewtwo had the bulk of the paperwork, which was how he liked it. His 'voice' didn't carry over electronic equipment, after all.

The Detective nearly slammed the phone down, and turned in her seat to glare at Mewtwo. "Are all techs morons?" she asked.

"_That depends entirely on your definition of moron,"_ he replied, amused. _"They do work with dangerous chemicals at times, and they do thwart you when you want speedy results, but 'morons' seems a bit strong…"_

"Suicidal morons," Brenda said, completely ignoring him.

Mewtwo turned back to the paperwork with a sigh, more amused then frustrated. The phone rang on Brenda's desk, but it was a common enough sound. He was able to ignore it.

"Hades?" Brenda asked. Mewtwo looked up, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"Okay, we'll be there." She put the phone down again, and frowned. "He just said there was something we needed to see about our case," she said.

"_Then I suggest we go."_

"Stop stating the obvious."

Wednesday, August 14, 11:30 A.M.

"I hate stairs," Brenda announced, shoving open the morgue door. "I really hate stairs. Why do we have them? Who- oh." She frowned at the body laid out on the table, and sighed. "Another one?" She glanced up at Ben. "Kind of young, isn't she?"

"Physically, yes," the coroner answered. "If my algorithms are correct, however, she was the first of the clones."

Brenda shook her head, and moved closer to the slab. Mewtwo hung back- well, she knew why. "First, huh?" She got a brooding look on her face, and scowled down at the dead girl. "Damn. What happened?"

"This is a preliminary examination, not official results," Ben warned, his eyes on the girl. "She jumped from a high place, and landed on her back. Moments later, her neck was snapped in the same manner as the others. The police on the scene found a window with a torn screen where the girl may have jumped, and no signs of forced entry to the home. All doors and windows remained locked."

"She's a clone," Brenda said, her voice flat. "Four got her."

Mewtwo edged closer, his eyes on the dead clone's face. _"She's _much_ younger looking then the others."_

"Physically, I believe she would match a girl five years of age," Ben said. "Olivia and Nigel already coordinated full-body X-rays. This girl grew normally, I believe. All her bones are at the development stage I would project."

"Shit," Brenda muttered, and leaned close. Her fingers itched to smooth out the soft, blonde hair, so she stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets. "So her growth wasn't sped up, then?" She leaned back, and looked at Mewtwo. "What do you think?"

Mewtwo arched one eyebrow. _"It would take scientists much longer then five years to figure out the secrets of cloning, but... yes, I think five years is long enough to find ways to keep their creations alive."_

"I can't tell anything at all about the life spans of the other children." Looking at this girl, Ben could easily spread the title to all the clones. "With her age, I might be able to start guessing. She aged normally, and I haven't found significant modifications to musculature."

Brenda nodded. "So, they hadn't figured out the aging process yet," she summed up, and hissed. "Fucking bastards. Do you know the cops that found her?"

"Not personally, and they ran before I could get a good look at their badges. The names are on the paperwork, so I didn't bother chasing them down."

"Got a copy of the paperwork?" Why'd they run? Brenda couldn't understand her own co-workers, sometimes. "I think I'll have to take over the case. She's mine, now."

"They left that, at least. Rookie cops. Some idiot in dispatch sent out a pair of new officers for this case, so they had to bring in a five-year-old girl on their first visit to the morgue," Ben said, trying to keep his voice calm. He changed subjects. "If they'd been faster, they might have found your suspect. She was found in a driveway, where she had fallen."

"If it'll break them, then its better they leave now," Brenda replied, and took a deep breath. "Good thing they didn't catch her. I'd want fifty feet and a gun between me and Four. Want to borrow Rhonwen?"

Mewtwo stepped forward before Ben could reply, and gave the impression of clearing his throat. _"Do you know why dispatch sent rookies out?" _he asked. _"Or were you concentrating on her? The First?"_

"I don't know. I was transferred to Dallas when I called the station. I tried to explain that any case involving a clone should draw backup, and to suggest that rookie officers shouldn't have a dead juvenile as their first case. Anthropologically, it's one of the most upsetting things a person can see.

"He told me to go back to the dead bodies and stay out of his business."

Brenda's snarl was low and vicious. "I'll deal with him, and dispatch," she promised. "Sucks that it happened, but believe me. It won't happen again." She looked back down at the clone, and her expression softened. "Ben? How do you take control over bodies, when you know there's no one to claim them? They deserve a proper burial."

"There's a fund in the city coffers to supply burials and tombstones. You can't take custody of bodies unless you prove relation, technically, but that office is under funded. Anyone that chips in for the grave and headstone, and who treats the victim with respect, will be welcomed."

Brenda nodded, and shrugged one shoulder at Mewtwo. "Thanks. Smith, let's go. Have your report ready by end of day, would you, Hades? I'll send you an incident report for the dispatch thing."

"I'll send you prelim findings, but I need to wait on a few cultures and tests before I release an official report. That'll take at least a day and a half, with the way the D.A. is stalking my lab."

"Why is the D.A. stalking your lab?" Brenda asked, her eyes narrowed. "The clones?"

"High-profile case," Ben replied. "I think he smells glory, and doesn't want me to muck things up."

"Do you want me to talk to him? I could offer him some coffee, that'd get rid of him."

_"Don't poison the D.A., Detective. It's not nice."_

"Fuck nice."

"Don't poison him, just... disabuse him of the notion that this will make him famous. Play like you have no leads and I'm juggling scalpels instead of performing autopsies, I don't care. Just convince him this particular case is unpalatable. His assistant is overworked and a wonderful person. When all the glory flows downstream, the D.A. will finally leave."

Mewtwo smirked, Brenda chuckled, and she just stopped herself from patting Ben on top of the head. "Nice assistant, scare the crap out of the D.A. Got it. Any more words of wisdom before we go hunt down some poor rookies?"

Ben leveled his most annoyed glare at them, not that it would have any effect. Why should it, when they had each other? "I don't know who had the bright idea to stick you two together when you were rookies, but they do deserve poison in their coffee."

"We didn't work together until a few months ago," Brenda said. Mewtwo looked too disturbed to talk. "Though we did know each other in high school." Okay, now she was considering being disturbed.

_"No we didn't!"_

"Not in a 'talk to each other way'," Brenda explained. "I was the crazy girl who tried to kill you that one time, remember?" She smirked.

"One of those relationships?" Ben felt like he was missing something, but he had too much work to start figuring out Johnson and Smith. "Go fight like an old married couple somewhere else, I'm busy."

"We don't- Ben, one of these days, I'm going to get you back for that. Just see if I don't." Brenda wagged one finger, and sighed. "Come on, Smith. Let's go somewhere we'll be appreciated." And he still looked far too disturbed to actually think. "Come _on_, let's go."

Only when she grabbed his arm and pulled did he actually move.

Wednesday, August 14, 12:45 P.M.

Detective Brenda Johnson reminded herself that the two bruisers she was looking at were in actuality puppies. Poor, abused, confused puppies who'd had to take a five year old dead girl to the morgue. The fact that they both looked like professional linebackers had nothing to do with the knots in her stomach.

"Coffee?" she asked, sitting down at the conference room table.

Linebacker one shook his head, staring at his hands. Linebacker two cleared his throat and actually spoke. "No, thanks, ma'am."

"Your choice." Brenda didn't move to get a mug herself. She wanted to get this out with a minimum of stalling. "You two picked up the kid?" she asked, and flipped open her file folder. Ben's notes, her own, and their reports were neatly stacked inside.

"Yeah," Linebacker two said. She thought his name was Gary. Gary Murphy.

She kept her voice even and professional. "Considered talking to a therapist?"

"No," Linebacker one said. She knew his name was Scott Simpson. "Why?"

"Maybe because you saw something bad?" she suggested, and studied one of the crime scene photos. The girl looked even more frail sprawled out on the house's driveway. "There's no shame in needing to spill your guts to a professional."

"_You_ don't," Simpson said, looking up only to flinch when Brenda turned to stare at him.

"Huh?"

Murphy's turn to talk, it seemed. "You don't talk to the shrink."

Brenda tilted her head, and wondered if smacking their heads together would get any result. "Yes, I do," she said. It wasn't actually a lie. She talked to Sheryl all the time, when she had the time.

"You've never talked to Earl," Murphy accused, pointing one meaty finger at her face. She arched one eyebrow.

"Of course not. Earl stares at my tits. I talk to a girl shrink."

Murphy flushed bright red, while Simpson went back to staring at the table. Brenda took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Fine. If they were going to be stubborn.

"Cops need to talk to people," she pointed out. "Anyone. Shrinks help you work through the shit you're going to deal with on this job. There'll be dead kids, and little old ladies knifed in the street for their wallets, and gang wars. If you don't think you can handle that, get out and do something easier on your minds.

"But if you think you can handle it, don't you damn well think you can handle it on your own. This is the twenty-second century, you're allowed to have emotions. And death is a burden too heavy for one person to carry."

She licked her lips and fell silent. That had been surprisingly eloquent. Her education was showing again. She'd have to do something spectacularily stupid, or play up her accent, or something soon. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Simpson and Murphy were staring at her. Brenda glared back, daring them to comment.

"If you think it's a good idea," Murphy said, sounding meek as a kitten.

"I do, yes."

"Do we have to talk to Earl?" Simpson asked, tracing patterns on the table. "He's weird."

Gods above and below, she was talking to a pair of grade school brats. "No, you don't. Here." She stood up and dug in her pockets, finding the crumpled and ragged business card Dr. Clark had given her. "You can always talk to this shrink. Dr. Clark's a good one."

Neither one moved to take the card, so she put it down on the table and gathered up her folder. She hesitated, just a bit, and turned to glare at them again. "If either of you tell anyone about my little speech there, I'll make you eat your own intestines."

**End Notes**

So, not only is this incredibly late, it's also short. You have my apologies. We are, however, edging on to the end of the story, and the conclusion of the Attack of the Clones. (Sorry, I had to.) So, yeah. Hopefully I won't lose the next chapter, and will actually WRITE it instead of vanishing again.


	18. Too Late

Too Late

Thursday, August 15, 3:05 P.M.

"Not to put too fine a point on it," Brenda growled, "but I'd like a warrant sometime before Hell freezes over."

Judge Desvontai of the south-eastern Islander clan Zorantai didn't look up from the file folder of evidence and speculation Brenda and Mewtwo had put together. "If you want a warrant from me, you will put up with my idiosyncrasies. One is actually reading the information you give me. Now hush."

Mewtwo smirked, and Brenda kicked his ankle. Illusionary brown eyes turned purple for a second, just in time for the Judge to actually look up. Desvontai merely scowled, and looked back down at the folder.

After perhaps another five minutes, Desvontai put the folder down, and leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands on his desk, and stared at Brenda. "So," he said. "Mr. Brown has been quite the naughty boy, hasn't he?"

"Oh, yes," Brenda said, and bared her teeth.

"There's not enough for Mr. Brown."

_"But there's enough for _someone_,"_ Mewtwo observed, and smiled when Desvontai looked over at him. _"Or you'd tell us to go away and stop wasting your time."_

"Nothing as crass as that," the judge said, and smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Anderson. There is enough for interview with Anderson. According to this, he's the most involved, of the survivors." He pulled a piece of paper from a pile on his desk, and scrawled his signature across the bottom. He held it out to Brenda. "Do come back when you have his full confession."

Brenda and Mewtwo shared a look, and then the both of them smiled.

Thursday, August 15, 4:59 P.M.

Mewtwo shuffled papers, keeping his attention on Mr. Jacob Anderson. Brenda had already read the man his rights in the hall, before going to 'check up on the forensic lab' leaving Mewtwo the interview.

Anderson was nervous, but trying not to hide it. He kept twisting the class ring on his right index finger, and glancing from the door, to Mewtwo, and then the one-way mirror, and then the papers Mewtwo was fussing with. The evidence.

Mewtwo and Brenda had worked out their strategy beforehand, while Anderson was being brought in from his lab. Mewtwo would start, and while he was with Anderson, so long as it didn't leave a mark and couldn't be proven with the video evidence that went hand in hand with interviews, he could do whatever he wanted.

Unfortunately, what he wanted was to cause Anderson as much pain and suffering as was physically possible.

When Brenda had enough of waiting, or if he showed signs of going a bit beyond reasonable interrogation techniques, she would enter the room and take over. There wasn't going to be a 'good cop' or a 'bad cop'. There was going to be an 'angry cop' and a 'pissed cop'.

_"Did you decide to go into cloning because of your cousin, Mr. Anderson?"_ Mewtwo asked, examining a piece of paper. _"Or because of the potential for fame?"_

"What are you talking about?" Anderson asked, leaning back, attention focused solely on the disguised psychic. "How do you know about Bonnie?"

_"I notice you don't ask about the cloning,"_ Mewtwo pointed out. Anderson pursed his lips, and the psychic leaned forward a touch. Anderson leaned back. _"Which makes me think. Not that the 'why' behind your involvement is really important. It would only be a check mark on our list."_

It was cruel, and completely unethical to use his telepathy in such a way. Anderson's mental shields might as well have not been there, and it was child's play- easier, in fact- to nudge pertinent memories to the forefront of the doctor's mind. Memories of little girls, tanks filled with a pale red liquid, of reading about the murders and feeling that clutch of fear. Mewtwo poked at several other memories- information Anderson had read about cloning long before joining David Brown's team of experts.

_"You're not the first person to try to play God,"_ Mewtwo said, voice lowering into a dangerous purr. _"Merely one of the stupidest. Did you really think you were important enough to protect? Michael Dekker and Elizabeth Taylor weren't. I suppose you heard about what happened to them? What happened to James Mallory and Gwen Thompson?"_

Anderson was sweating now, pupils dilated and lips parted as he breathed just a little too fast. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, stumbling a little over the words.

Anderson was a coward, entirely too focused on protecting himself. Mewtwo didn't even need his telepathy to pick it up.

_"No?"_ he asked, and leaned back in his seat. _"Really? Perhaps I should jog your memory?"_ He sorted through the papers in front of him, and found exactly what he was looking for. Their evidence, circumstantial though it was, of Anderson's involvement. _"You realize, of course, that Four will remember you."_ He nudged the paper over to Anderson's side of the table, and smiled. _"I would. If I were her, paying attention to everyone who hurt my sisters, I would memorize their names and faces so I could exact revenge."_ Now he nudged a crime scene photo of Gwen Thompson's remains across the table.

Anderson looked at the photo, and gagged. Mewtwo leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his stomach. Silence was just as an effective weapon as silence, so he waited.

Anderson shoved the photo away. Mewtwo exchanged it with the photo of Four, from the hospital cameras. Anderson couldn't seem to look away.

"I didn't have anything to do with this," he said. A lie, of course. Mewtwo smiled, and didn't move, merely kept his eyes focused on the fool's face. Telepathy was impossible to prove, and didn't leave a mark. He continued to prod at the man's mind, managing to find certain nightmares of vengeful clones attacking in the dead of night. Anderson shuddered and whimpered, and looked around the room, unable to focus on any one thing for longer than a second.

_"You had a great deal to do with this,"_ he said, and Anderson was staring at him again. Mewtwo continued to smile. _"We have the evidence, you know."_

"Then why aren't I under arrest?"

_"Because we want your boss."_ Mewtwo lost his smile, and stood up. Slowly, he paced around the table, and stared at the directional mirror. Brenda was somewhere behind the pane of one-way glass, he knew, watching. Waiting for her turn to pounce. _"Who bankrolled the project?"_

"I don't know."

_"I think you do know."_

"I- I- no. I don't know. I don't- Mike, we were working together, maybe six years ago. He said he'd come across something. Household name. Him and Liz and James and Gwen. They were going to be in cream, and he offered me a chance. I don't know who had the money." Anderson's hands were shaking, and sweat darkened the collar of his shirt. "Swear to God, I don't know who."

Mewtwo glanced at the one-way glass again, and then returned to his seat. _"Let's try this again,"_ he said. _"You know, or think you know, who bank rolled the project."_

Anderson protested. Mewtwo did his best for the next fifteen minutes, but Anderson held firm that he didn't know the person at the top. Mewtwo glanced at the one-way glass twice in three minutes, and frowned. Brenda, he knew, was just what was needed to tip the scales. He himself was simply not intimidating enough, not in his disguise.

Tempting as it was to drop his illusion and play the furious demon, it would be caught by the cameras, and it simply wasn't worth the trouble.

The interrogation room door opened quietly, and Brenda stepped in. She nodded to Mewtwo, circled around behind Anderson, and moved to stand next to Mewtwo. She smiled, managing to somehow show every single tooth in her head, and placed a plain, brown file folder on the table.

"You got sloppy," she said, still grinning. "Garbage is public property, and you didn't use a shredder. We've got you cold."

"What? You- how dare you!" Anderson jumped to his feet. Brenda lost her smile, tilted her head, and snorted.

"Public property. You're the one who figured letting anyone and everyone know your credit card numbers was a good idea. Oh, and your study recordings. That was a stroke of brilliance."

Mewtwo pulled the file folder over to him, and flipped through it quickly. It was only a small sample, he realized, but enough. More than enough.

_"Conspiracy to commit murder,"_ he said, and let the folder fall onto the table, open. Anderson stared at the papers, his skin gone a waxy, pale gray. _"First degree. Ten to twenty years in prison. If the jury likes you, that is."_

"If they don't, it's twenty to life in a maximum security jail. If you're lucky, you'll get a protector. One who doesn't like to share his playthings." Brenda's eyes were cold and dark, and she leaned forward on the table. Most frightening of all was the pleasant expression she wore. "If you keep up with your little tale of not knowing anything. If you co-operate, we can put in a good word for you."

Anderson's eyes nearly jumped out of his head, he looked up so fast. "You'd make a deal," he said flatly.

Mewtwo felt his fur bristle along his shoulders, but he nodded, once. _"You'd be safe,"_ he said. _"Which is more than you deserve."_

Anderson's fingers tapped out a rhythm on the table, quick and nervous. "You'd put it in writing?" he asked, glancing between Brenda and Mewtwo.

"If your information is worth anything," Brenda said.

Anderson only had to think for five seconds. Then he spilled his guts. Fifteen names in all, recruited by one David Brown, a lab owner and main shareholder in Helix Pharmaceuticals.

Mewtwo's hands curled into fists. Unnoticed by Anderson, at an angle the cameras couldn't pick up, Brenda pressed one hand against his back.

Thursday, August 15, 6:09 P.M.

"We're going to have to call in the Feds," Brenda said, and sat down in Anderson's recently abandoned seat. Anderson had been a waxy gray; Brenda was gray-brown, the closest to sallow she could get, skin dull. She couldn't seem to look up, eyes locked on Anderson's signed statement. "This is too much for two murder cops. We're talking corporate, political... Not to mention at least half of the names are going to be out of the city. Maybe even out of the country."

_"We have to be the ones to take him down,"_ Mewtwo said, eyes flickering between purple and blue. _"Please."_

"It's not about what we want," Brenda said, as gently as possible for her. "It's about what's best. I'll try to pull some strings and get you in on the bust, but I can't promise anything."

_"Not you?"_

"No, the FBI doesn't like me. Ever since I beat one of their operations to a serial killer. I had two weeks, they had two years. Pissed them off."

Mewtwo smirked, and Brenda tried to smile in response. Her effort utterly failed. She was just too tired. She still had so much to do, and her energy was starting to fail. Her gut was still churning from what they crime scene techs had brought her. More than just the tame reports she'd let Mewtwo see. The worst had been from Dekker and forwarded to Anderson, but still. It'd been bad.

"Look," she said, dragging herself out of her thoughts. "We need to write this up and talk to Desvontai, then the Feds. Then we can hand the whole damn mess to them with a nice little bow, warrant included."

Mewtwo frowned a little at that. Brenda didn't care. Let the Feds deal with the media storm. She was tired, and more than ready to deal with the normal shit. Or maybe take a vacation. She had almost two years worth saved up.

_"Alright,"_ he finally said, and stood up. _"Shall we go, then?"_

Go? Oh, that's right, to Desvontai. Brenda rubbed at her forehead and sighed. "Yeah," she said. "Let's go."

Exhaustion dragged claws down her back and shoved white-hot needles into her bad knee. She couldn't feel the rest of her leg, just her knee, and it sucked. Only force of will kept her from limping, and only long experience kept them safe on the drive from the station to the courthouse. Desvontai had implied that he wouldn't be leaving until after he'd issued them a warrant for David Brown, even if it meant he stayed overnight.

She shouldn't have expected any differently. He was a Southern Islander. They had values, even if she'd never had the chance to learn them.

She parked near the courthouse's front door, and once she got out of her car she just stood there, staring at the building. It was clean, kept that way by a service every week, three times as respectable looking as her own station building, but it didn't have the pulse of life the cop's station house had.

_"Detective?"_

Mewtwo was beside her, staring down at her. When had he moved? She slammed the door closed and started walking. Everything was on damn automatic, because her brain had decided it'd had enough.

She needed coffee and a meal. Then she could catch her next wind and be ready to close the damn thing down.

There was still a light on in Desvontai's office, and his secretary was still at his desk. Brenda stared without comprehension at the man, at his pale skin and almost round eyes. Why would a _haukea_ be here?

Desvontai stepped out of his office at just that moment, for which Brenda was thankful. She'd been about to ask something unforgivably rude.

The judge made a sound at the back of his throat. "You got a confession," he said.

"Yeah," Brenda replied, and cleared her throat. "Yes. We need a warrant for interview and search." She glanced at the _haukea_ again and gave a mental shrug. Desvontai's lips twitched in something that might have been the start of a smile, and turned to his secretary.

"Paul, could you print off the forms, please? I need to speak with the officers in my office, so five minutes, if you would?"

"Of course, Malei." the secretary, Paul, started typing on his computer. Brenda allowed herself to be led into the judge's office, Mewtwo's hand on her arm the only thing keeping her moving. She sat down in the first chair she saw, and sighed.

"I don't understand," she murmured, and shook her head. No, she didn't care. "Warrant?" she asked, a little of her usual growl scraping her throat.

Desvontai leaned against his desk. "In five minutes. Can you guarantee me this man will go to jail?"

Mewtwo glanced at Brenda, his tail curling around the back of her chair. She wondered if the judge could see through the psychic illusion. She could. _"Oh, yes. The FBI will have to be involved, but yes, we can guarantee he'll go to jail. Murder in the first degree, conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree, and whatever else we decide to toss at him."_

"The FBI could actually be helpful," Desvontai observed. "They have so much more in the way of resources and man-power. There are laws against cloning, you know. People and politicians keep trying to get them overturned, but no one's succeeded yet."

Brenda smiled. "Are there really?" she asked. "Well, we've got ten good reasons why you shouldn't play god, and eight of them are in the morgue."

The judge nodded, and stared at Brenda. She stared right back.

"Well," he said, and glanced at Mewtwo. "Will the psychic need to worry about anything he did in the interview room? Electronics don't pick up telepathy."

Mewtwo stiffened, but Brenda was tired enough to laugh. "Special camera," she said. "Don't ask me how it works, but psychic tricks are picked up. Can't remember why right now, but it's damned useful, isn't it?"

At that, Mewtwo relaxed and Desvontai grinned. The secretary knocked on the door and handed in the papers, which the judge promptly signed. He gave the papers to Mewtwo, and glanced at Brenda.

"The two of you could use some sleep," Desvontai said. "So could I. Come on, Paul. The day's been long enough."

Brenda nodded, and pushed against the chair arms to lever herself up. Dinner, she thought, and then she could take care of a few nagging details. She'd contact the FBI office after dinner. Tomorrow would be soon enough to take out David Brown.

She didn't protest the hand Mewtwo pressed against her back. She was having enough trouble walking as it was, she didn't dare begrudge the help.

_"What do you want to do first?"_ Mewtwo asked, and opened the car door for her.

"Call the Feds," she said. "Then dinner. Then... I don't know. I'll need to think about that."

Except she did know. She sighed, and nodded at the passenger seat. "Well, let's go then."

The homicide bull pen was quiet, the day shift having gone home and evening and night shift only just starting. Brenda sat down at her desk, and stared at the potted plant Mewtwo had gotten. Bright green leaves, she thought, and frowned. Someone had been watering it. She'd worry about that later. She had some Feds to call.

It took maybe five minutes to find the right number, and another five to end up talking with a living, breathing person. Mewtwo was busy typing up their reports for the end of the day, which meant she was free to growl at the moron on the other end of the line who just didn't seem to _understand_. Yes, she was a cop. Yes, she was willingly involving the FBI in an investigation. No, she didn't want the fame that'd come with the case. Fame meant reporters and reporters meant cameras and really, she didn't need that sort of hassle. More important, Mewtwo didn't need that sort of hassle.

She finally arranged a meeting with two FBI agents the next day at eleven, and hung up.

"So," she asked, and stretched out her neck. "I'm thinking pizza."

Mewtwo turned in his seat, and tilted his head. _"You're tired. We'll eat at your place. I'll teleport us."_

"Not that tired," she said. "It's just finally coming to a close, is all. Most cases, it's either done quickly, or it's longer and you can catch your breath. Not like this one, is all."

_"We're still eating the pizza at your place."_

"Fine," Brenda said. What was the point in arguing?

Thursday, August 15, 8:18 P.M.

Mewtwo had cleaned up and left, leaving Brenda to what he probably thought was sleep. Not yet, she thought, and continued to dig through her desk. It had to be around somewhere. She'd just used the damn thing last week.

Rhonwen was watching her, lips quirked in what had to be a smirk.

"It's not that I'm picky or anything, I just don't want to use the other one," she said. The houndoom snorted. Brenda chose to take it as agreement. "Exactly," she muttered, and went back to pawing through her desk. She managed to find her personal check book, but that was worthless because she didn't want to use her personal one. She wanted to use the other one.

It turned out to be in the second drawer to the left, instead of the right as she'd thought. There were still a good half of the pages left, but she'd only had fifty to start, anyways. It took a moment's thought, but then she remembered the exact title and scrawled out the amount in as neat a hand as she could manage. It was surprisingly neat, considering she couldn't read cursive very well.

Viridian City's Victim's Fund didn't have enough money in its purse. Brenda thought about the amount she'd decided on, and mentally added another zero. That, she thought, should ensure the victims without families had a decent burial. She already knew the first group who'd reap the benefits, too. Cremation, she thought, to erase any DNA, and then... Well, they'd been born together, they'd been sisters. They deserved to be buried together.

Friday, August 16, 9:30 A.M.

Agents Highmore and Edwards were alright, Mewtwo decided, if one accepted that they were hardnosed politicians pretending to be cops. He mentioned as much to Brenda, who smirked, before greeting Highmore and Edwards politely.

The meeting itself went quickly, going over everything the two cops had gotten together. Highmore had been properly impressed, while Edwards had sneered very slightly. The two men had been in for a shock, Mewtwo decided, which Brenda had very happily given them. They'd almost jumped out of their shiny shoes when she'd explained that, because of special circumstances, the Viridian Morgue had the clones' bodies under protective custody and that, as soon as the arrests had begun, the bodies would be documented- and then relocated to an unnamed graveyard.

Edwards had tried to protest; Highmore and Mewtwo had both cut him off.

"They're kids," Highmore said, and scowled at his partner. "We'll have enough evidence from the labs, you want a couple kids too?"

"Islander," Brenda whispered, nodding to Highmore. "Pureblood from... somewhere north, I don't know. They've got an honor code."

Mewtwo arched his eyebrows, and nodded. _"A code that means what, exactly?"_ he asked. _"That children deserve a decent burial?"_

Brenda smirked. "No, that they won't screw with _haukea_ lives more than necessary. The girls will have a proper burial."

"And how do you know that?" Edwards asked. His cheeks and nose were bright red. "If word gets out where they're buried-"

"Cremation," Brenda said, interrupting the agent. "Besides, they'll be buried with names, all ten of them, and a clan affiliation. An Islander Clan Leader directed some money to the victim's fund, with the instruction that it be used for sensitive cases like this one first."

Highmore tilted his head, the same way Brenda did when thinking, and then nodded. "The Clan Leader has honor, to think of the dead," he said. "We'll respect that. You will take care of the bodies, I understand?"

"Yes," Brenda replied, while Mewtwo was still trying to understand that little interlude. He finally decided it didn't matter, and paid attention to the conversation again.

"We don't want or need a wet behind the ears puppy," Edwards snapped, and glared at Mewtwo. Mewtwo smiled back. So, he was a puppy? That was strange, he'd always thought he was a cat.

"He's good with computers, and he's more than willing to learn. You're taking him with you for the bust," Brenda said.

"We're taking him with us," Highmore said, and stood up. He was three inches shorter than his partner, but Edwards inched backwards all the same. "He knows the information and the evidence better than we do. They put in the work. One of them should see it closed."

Edwards grunted, and nodded. "Fine," he said. "Just stay out of our way."

Mewtwo stood up. He was almost a foot taller than Edwards, and he could not help but smirk. _"Try to keep up,"_ he said. _"I won't wait for you, if you slow me down."_

Highmore spoke before his partner could. "You said ten clones," he said. "Yet I thought Anderson said there were eleven."

_"He also said there were only seven, that there were possibly twelve, but certainly no more than five. I don't believe he knew exactly how many there were. They look quite similar, for obvious reasons."_

The two agents nodded. Edwards glared at Brenda, who'd remained sitting.

"When's the burial?" he asked.

"Today," Brenda replied. "That's where I'll be. If you need me, Smith has my cell number."

Mewtwo nodded, and the two agents filed out of the conference room. He hesitated before following, wishing he knew what, exactly, he wanted to ask Brenda. She smiled, and waved one hand in his direction.

"You'd better go," she said. "Especially after that pretty speech about them not slowing you down. It'll be fine. Our part's almost over."

_"Do you think Four is dead?"_ Mewtwo asked, going with his second question. _"You said all ten of them."_

"I think she'll be dead soon, if she isn't already. We'll find her, one way or the other. They weren't born to live in our world, and she knows it. Go."

Mewtwo nodded, and headed after the agents. He turned his mind to the upcoming arrest, and felt himself smile. David Brown wasn't going to know what hit him.

Brenda smiled as Mewtwo left, and stood up after a moment. She had bodies to safeguard, from the morgue to the funeral home. It'd be a quick burial. There wasn't going to be a viewing, and she'd already arranged for the plot and marker. The funerary world could move as fast as the living, when given sufficient reason.

Friday, August 16, 11:09 A.M.

The burial had indeed been quick. The eight boxes of ashes had been placed in the single grave, the priest- of what religion, Brenda couldn't tell- had said a few words, and then she'd been left with an empty hole. She'd asked for the right to shovel the dirt on. She thought she knew what was coming, and it'd be better if she faced it alone. The graveyard's groundkeeper had shrugged and agreed. Less work for him.

There was a comfortable bench just three feet from the grave, looking out over the field bordering the graveyard. It was a peaceful place, she thought. The flowers grew everywhere. It was better than a park, in her opinion.

"You," a little girl said, sounding both accusing and lost. "You took my sisters away. You burnt them up."

Brenda turned in her seat and smiled. "Hello, Four," she said. "Cliché as it sounds, I've been waiting for you."

**End Notes**

So, ah, I'm not dead. I'm just really, really bad at multitasking. I don't even want to think about how long it's been since I wrote a chapter for Chosen Fate, but hey, look! New chapter! And there's only one chapter and an epilogue left, so hopefully this story will be finished before Hell freezes over. I seriously don't want to think how long ago it's been since I started the story...

You know the drill. Shiny review button, let me know what you think. Or just chew me out for taking so long, whichever you so desire.


	19. Chosen Fate

Chosen Fate

Friday, August 16, 11:10 A.M.

Mewtwo was polite enough to knock before entering the morgue. The fact that the morgue door was nearly two inches thick and solid steel didn't matter to a psychic. Ben heard a knock and that was all that mattered. Mewtwo eased the door open and quickly scanned the room for active autopsies. There were several bodies out on tables, but no one was cutting anything open at the moment.

"A moment of your time, doctor?" he asked.

Ben looked away from his chart, startled. "That door was locked," he said confidently. "It was closed, and locks automatically--but yes, I have a moment."

"Was it locked?" Mewtwo asked, amused. "I'm telekinetic. Maybe two moments, if you have any questions. I thought you'd want to know that we've made arrests, and there will be no more clones on your tables."

"The last girl was found, as well?"

Mewtwo hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm not sure what the Detective will decide about Four," he admitted. "She has been speaking to her Clan leader, apparently. They are adopted as Islanders."

"I understand bodies. I don't understand Islander politics. What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself. I think if I did ask the Detective, she would kill me, and the other Islander's I've met are about the same. From what I understand there is a treaty, but what's involved... I honestly don't know. They may have policies against autopsies."

"It wouldn't hurt their case, if one of the many girls just disappeared. I never said that on record, of course, but it may even add to the current prosecutor's efforts if the last sister isn't a list of medical symptoms and deviations."

Mewtwo shook his head. "Honestly, I'm not sure what's going to happen. I'm not even sure when the funeral will be. If you want to go, I'll find out for you."

Ben considered for a moment. "Not the funeral, but the cemetery. That's the part that she cared about most."

"Very well." Mewtwo crossed the room and glanced at the body on the table. An older man, overweight, covered to the shoulders with a sheet. "Time to work on other cases, I see."

"I'm finally back on the schedule for the area, now that the main analysis is finished. While it was in progress, most of my usual work was diverted to other departments."

Mewtwo nodded. "So, your interns have been a big help? The Detective will be pleased."

"They've taken care of a lot of the detail-work that used to waste hours of my day, and actually think the mundane tasks are fascinating. One was a bit more sensitive about bodies, to start, but it becomes surreal or practical very quickly."

"Sounds like police work," Mewtwo admitted. One did grow used to all manner of things. He blinked, and looked around. "Yet your interns are not here."

"They're getting lunch. They were working in the anatomy lab with the rest of their classmates this morning, and all the formaldehyde tends to make the students ravenous. They'll be a little longer than usual."

Mewtwo stared at Ben for a long moment. "I really wish I knew if you were joking. Formaldehyde just makes me ill."

"The best thing to do with bad smells like that is usually to just take a couple deep breaths and go on with business as usual. Fresh smells are a lot different, because you can't get used to those half so easily," Ben said. "You're all done with arrests, then, and the business of clones is over. Any special reason you wanted to brave the morgue to tell me?"

"Four nearly killed you. If she does end up on your table, will you be alright?"

"That's certainly getting to the point." He looked over his morgue thoughtfully. "I would be fine here, because this room is the only place in the world where I know exactly what should happen when, and where I have the authority to ban people who cannot understand my line of work. This is my room. It would be unsettling later, but through the procedure itself I would be fine."

Mewtwo nodded. He supposed he understood. "And she is only a little girl. Insane, but still a little girl." His lips tightened, and his eyes gleamed purple for a second. "I think you at least would understand that."

"I do, actually. My youngest sister is eight. My parents were extremely surprised, as the next-youngest is nineteen."

"Ah. One of life's little surprises?" Mewtwo studied one of the ambiguous blown up lab charts on the wall. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was. He was more of an engineer, anyways, he supposed.

"One of the less pleasant ones for my younger brother, who had been happily living under the delusions that my parents never had sex." Ben couldn't quite pull off a smirk, but his smile was slightly vindictive.

That surprised a laugh out of Mewtwo, and he curled his tail around his feet. "Probably a fantasy most children entertain. It is a disturbing thought, after all."

"Hazards of the medically minded, I suppose--people don't just pop into existence. Something happened."

"So you were 'medically minded' before you decided to become a doctor?"

"I have a very strange way of seeing the world, and could name every bone in the body in sixth grade. I think I'd decided before I knew quite how my brain worked, if that makes any sense."

Mewtwo blinked several times. When he was young, he'd been a murderer. That wasn't something he wanted to think about, so he did his best to ignore it. "I can't say that I've always wanted to be a cop, but injustice has always angered me. Obviously." He gestured at a familiar, bent scalpel, and sighed. "I need to work on my temper."

"I wouldn't worry much about it. Scalpels are really quite easy to bend, and I've only kept it around to scare the interns. They think I got angry enough to stab a table.

"Well, you didn't, but I suppose an intimidating reputation can only help, and not hurt." He looked around the room, a veritable shrine to the dead, and sighed. "And it's believable, too."

"Would you prefer to talk in my office? I'm not in the middle of anything." Ben gestured towards the door.

"Only if you want to. I honestly don't mind it here."

"Most people feel a little uncomfortable here, especially when I plan to be back at work in half an hour."

Mewtwo shook his head and snorted. Not hardly. "Most people should work with the Detective on a normal week," he said. "They would not be uncomfortable in a sterile room, then."

"You've probably seen worse with crime scenes," Ben agreed. "I think we're all glad this case is over."

"Well, apart from the theatrics to come..." Mewtwo snarled, and shook his head. "Are cops glory hogs?" he asked, doing his best to sound polite. "Just as a random question."

"Depends on the cop, just like it depends on the lawyer."

"I find I begin to understand why cops hate Feds," Mewtwo admitted. "If- sorry, when- Agents Edwards and Highmore appear, could you ignore Edwards? Or make him uncomfortable? As a favor to me?"

"Does he seem like the squeamish type? If he's not, there isn't much I can do without shooting for a complete lack of manners."

"I wouldn't say he's squeamish, but when I attempted to explain my particular methods of research to Highmore, Edwards told me to go to the very end. Highmore wanted to know what they would be able to plausibly produce as evidence." Mewtwo clenched his fists, and shook his head. "At least Highmore is sensible, and likes details."

"I'll see what I can do."

"The more intricate, the better, I would imagine." At least Edwards had been good for something. He'd been more than willing to talk, while Highmore and Mewtwo had mutually decided they preferred appearing as mute, walking muscles.

Mewtwo was about to add something else, probably another complaint about Edwards- now he understood why Brenda was in a perpetual bad mood- when the phone rang. He arched his eyebrows and turned to look at it. "Were you expecting a call?" he asked politely. "Would you like me to leave?"

"I wasn't expecting anyone," Ben said, glancing at the number. "Perhaps you should stay," he said as he picked up the phone. "Detective Johnson, I'll put you on speaker. Officer Smith is in the room with me."

"You do that." Brenda kept her voice low. Mewtwo wondered why. "This'll have to be quick. Four's here at the grave. She's currently paying her respects. She'll be in to the morgue tonight, and then we'll have to get her cremated quick. Hades, she's got a headache, her eyes are more red then anything, her pupils are pinpricks and her pulse is... Way too fast. She looks like shit and said she drank floor cleaner."

Mewtwo took a breath, and glanced at the coroner. "I guess you will have to write a report on Four," he murmured.

"I don't suppose you could get her into the hospital." Ben knew it was wishful thinking even as he said it. "She's preternaturally strong, hates doctors, and wants to be with her sisters."

"I don't think she's got much longer. Her heart's going to go if it keeps this up," Brenda groused. "Just... She looks worse than any of the others. I don't think she's been eating."

"She wants to sleep with her sisters." Ben was sure.

Mewtwo nodded, and wished his voice would carry over the phone. "Do you want me to stay here, Doctor? At least until your interns have returned?"

"I will be fine, I just need a few things from my office... I won't bother explaining that I have forewarning, but I can at least have Miss Four's papers ready."

Mewtwo nodded, and looked back at the phone, then hissed. "The Detective hung up," he said, and sighed. "Well. I suppose I'd best go do some final paperwork on the case, then. May the Feds have fun with it."

Friday, August 16, 11:51 A.M.

Brenda tucked her cell phone back into her pocket, and wondered when she'd break it. Fifth one she'd had that year. She just didn't have the knack of flipping it open without snapping the top part right off the bottom. Not that the cell phone was important, but thinking about it helped keep her calm with Four staring at her.

"You were talking to someone," Four said, and frowned. "Who?"

"A friend of mine," Brenda said. She kept her hands in sight as she shifted in her seat, just to get comfortable. Leaning forward was stupid, but it brought her eyes on level with Four. "He's a clone too, you know."

"My sisters met him, didn't they?" Four moved closer, and even those few steps left her gasping for breath. "With the doctors, and the white rooms. You were there."

"Yes, that was Mewtwo. We've been working to stop the people who created you." Brenda took a risk and patted the bench seat beside her. "You look like you could use a rest."

"Sleep." Four's eyes closed, and she looked like she was savoring something especially tasty. "My sisters sleep and I shall follow them."

"In the meantime, why don't you sit down?"

Four opened her eyes and stared at Brenda. "You're different," she murmured. "You're afraid, but not of me. Not of what I could do to you. Why? I don't understand. Three isn't here to tell me."

"Chatty, aren't you?" Brenda shrugged one shoulder. "Sit down and I'll tell you, how's that?"

The clone was a young child- smart, but still a child. She sat down. Brenda brushed Four's arm with her own, and frowned. The child was freezing. A side effect of the encroachment of death, no doubt. Or just an utter lack of flesh on the child's bones.

"You burnt my sisters up," Four said, and pointed at the grave still waiting to be filled in. "I should kill you for that."

"Why would you do that?" Brenda asked. "Don't you think your sisters deserve to sleep in peace?"

The clone hesitated. "Yes."

"Well, now they can. No one can wake them up again."

"Don't you dare!" Four howled, and grabbed Brenda's arm. Before Brenda could react, Four was twisting and something sharp and hot and painful was jabbing into her shoulder. After a moment she figured it out. Four was trying to rip her arm out of it's socket.

The image of the homeless man, limbs ripped off, flashed through her mind. She ignored it.

"That's why I had them burned," she said, doing her best to keep her voice level. "So people couldn't wake them up again. They'll sleep forever now, and I'll do the same for you. You deserve sleep too."

Four let go of Brenda's arm. Brenda hissed and rubbed at her shoulder, all the while eyeing the clone.

"You promise?" Four asked.

"My Clan's honor on it."

"I don't know what that means."

Brenda shrugged her uninjured shoulder. "_Haukea_- non-Islanders- never do. Don't worry about it. But yes, I promise."

"There's writing on the stone above their heads," Four said.

"Yes. A name for each and every one of you. All ten, isn't it?"

"I am the last of ten, yes. My sisters are all dead." Four grabbed Brenda's hand with both of her own, so very gentle when moments before she had been violent.

Brenda reminded herself not to jerk away. "So there are no more clones. No more of you."

"I have no more sisters."

"That doesn't exactly answer my question," Brenda said gently. "Are there any more clones?"

"There is your friend," Four said, and glanced up through her bangs. She was sweating now, Brenda noticed. Just a little bit. "He is a clone."

"I don't mean Mewtwo. I mean any more clones like you."

"There were others, but they weren't my sisters. They went away forever, before Three went to sleep and burned." Four let go of Brenda's hand, and hugged herself. "I don't feel good."

"No," Brenda said, and risked wrapping her injured arm around Four's shoulders. The girl didn't seem to notice, except she leant against Brenda's side. "So the other clones, they're all dead?"

"They went away forever. They never came back."

Probably dead, Brenda decided. Four was shaking, and sweating, and it wouldn't be too long now. Without even thinking about it, Brenda began to hum an old lullaby.

Several hours later, the paramedics moved slowly down the hill, balancing the stretcher and the tiny body on it with exquisite care. Brenda watched, until the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance and it began the long drive to the morgue. She sat down on the bench again, and closed her eyes.

**End Notes**

Well, ladies and gents, that's it. Or, well, not quite. I have a few more threads to tie off in the Epilogue, and then the story will truely be finished. It's taken me most of a year, with far too many breaks for my peace of mind, and this paticular story's shown me exactly what I need to work on, for further stories. Thanks for reading, I hope you guys like the Epilogue once it's posted.


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

Thursday, August 20, 3:15 P.M.

Brenda arched an eyebrow at the dragon guarding the door- Grace, Dr. Clark's fanatically punctual secretary. The secretary just glared back, obviously unimpressed.

"You're early," the secretary said, her voice the unholy sound of nails scraping down a chalkboard.

Brenda smiled, bright and cheerful and if she didn't cut it out real soon, he'd shoot herself. "Aw, and last time you were upset because I was late. Make up your mind, would you?"

The secretary sniffed and stared at her computer monitor. Brenda sat down, and stretched out her bad leg. It could always be worse, she supposed. Bad enough that she'd been sent to the shrink for 'anger management' problems, but the pictures of Mewtwo might have actually been developed and published. Dealing with Elaine was the lesser of two evils. Dealing with Elaine was probably on par with Sheryl, as far as competence went.

She was just starting to consider flipping through the magazines out on the table when Elaine came in. Brenda was relieved. She hadn't exactly wanted to read how other women took the pounds off and kept them off. Her problem, after all, was putting the pounds on.

"Hey doc. Here for our emergency session."

Elaine nearly dropped her bags. "Oh, right. Come on in. Hope you don't mind, I had to pick my daughter up from day care. She got sick so she couldn't stay."

"She's okay, though right?" Brenda stood up and plucked the shrink's purse off the top of the mess. The look Elaine gave her was thankful; the look the secretary sent Brenda's way was murderous.

"Oh, she's well enough. Just a stomach bug. She was more put out at having to go home and stay with Lawrence for the rest of the day than anything else, really. She was going to get a gold sticker for a month of perfect attendance."

Brenda nodded, and put the purse down on the desk. The office looked more like someone used it, then the mostly empty room she'd seen on her first visit. There were certificates from various colleges and universities, mixed with copies of several famous paintings and a few photos of various people Brenda assumed were Elaine's family. The desk itself was now strewn with clutter, with several more pictures standing on one corner.

"So, what'd you do again?" Elaine sat down behind her desk and turned on her computer monitor.

"Why does everyone assume I do stuff?" Brenda asked.

"According to gossip, because people know you. Who'd you punch?"

"I didn't punch the asshole," Brenda stated. "I threw his camera into a wall. It's completely different, and I already bought him a new one."

"Do I even want to ask?"

"Probably not." Brenda picked up one of the photos on the doctor's desk, but didn't look at it. "At least the case- I told you about it, didn't I?"

Elaine nodded. "The one that's all over the news? Yeah. Those poor girls. At least the people responsible will pay for their crimes."

"That certainly seems to be the main theme, yeah. Public lambasting. Never did get in touch with the one person, though. May the Feds have that piece of fun."

The shrink chuckled, and gestured at the visitor's chair. "And this is the part where I tell you to take a seat and ask how this all is making you feel."

"Pissed, mostly." Brenda sat down, still holding the picture frame. She used it to gesture around the room, and shook her head. "Some idiot leaked who the original cops working the case were. When I find out who, they're dead."

"Metaphorically, of course."

"It's no fun to actually kill them. Then it's over and you can't freak them out any more."

At that, Elaine actually laughed. Brenda smirked, and leaned back in her chair.

"Anyways, it's just been a wild couple of days. Everyone at the station knows we did it, but the Feds are- surprise, surprise- taking all the glory. Not that I don't want them to, because who needs the shit reporters bring with them?"

"But someone tattled." Elaine shook her head. "So, there was a reporter?"

"I sure as hell never agreed to get my picture taken, and neither did Smith. So, I broke the camera."

"What else did you do?"

"Maybe threatened to feed him his own feet if he pulled that sort of shit again." Brenda shrugged. "I wouldn't actually _do_ it. Too messy."

"So long as we've got that established." Elaine leaned forward, and smiled. "I don't really see why you're even here. Anger management my left foot."

"Hey, I like my reputation. It served me well. And until... Until certain atmospheres at the station and in the Tower change..." Brenda frowned, and stared at the window. Talking to Elaine was a lot like talking with Sheryl. She always ended up saying more then she'd meant to. "Anyways, people expect me to be a stereotype. Why disappoint?"

"Why didn't you become an actress, again?"

"I hate the lime light."

Elaine nodded. "I can believe that."

Brenda shrugged one shoulder and looked down at the picture in her hand. She felt her shoulder muscles tense. A very, very familiar face smiled up at her from behind the glass. Pale, colorless eyes with nearly white hair in a pixie cut. Even though the girl was obviously very young, there wasn't much in the way of youthful baby fat rounding her cheeks.

"Ah..." Brenda stuttered, looking up at Elaine with wide eyes. Then she bit her lip and forced herself to remain calm. "You, ah..."

"Hm? Oh, that's my daughter, Lizzie. Elizabeth. Isn't she the cutest thing?" Elaine smiled and reached for the photograph. Brenda handed it over automatically. "She's really my sister's daughter, but her father died. You know how it is." She looked up and met Brenda's eyes. "She's really quite shy, what with the recent upheavals."

Brenda nodded slowly, comparing Elaine with her memory of Four. They had the same facial shape, she decided, except Elaine's hair was darker and her eyes brown, and Elaine was very obviously sane. She wondered what Elaine's sister had looked like.

"I understand," she said, and cleared her throat. "She's definitely cute. Anyways, you want to give me a clean bill of mental health? I kind of want to get back to work. I don't trust Smith alone, he'll do something weird to my computer."

Elaine smiled, and nodded. "Sure thing! Let me just type up a quick memo for your superiors, I'll just be a minute."

Brenda nodded, and picked up the picture again. Lizzy looked like a happy and healthy three year old. Maybe, unlike Four and her sisters, she'd grow up to live a normal life. Something to pray for, she supposed. Her lip twitched as she set the picture back down on the desk. She wouldn't tell Mewtwo. The man had a tendency to obsess, and he deserved a life of his own as well.

**End Notes**

And so we come at last to the end, a journey that's taken most of a year (no thanks to my procrationation- sorry). I hope you all enjoyed the trip, because I did. However, I'm going to be taking a break from the Sword and Shield universe as I brush up on my interrogation scenes. And oh yeah, next story? Involves pirates! Seriously.


End file.
